Commander Tucker Proposes
by Alelou
Summary: He proposes, but that doesn't mean she accepts. Angst-o-rama with a happy ending. Enough people asked for it, so now there's a honeymoon ... complete with Grandma. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** What happened between the end of "Bound" and the beginning of "Demons" to make Trip and T'Pol so distant? I thought this would be my usual short little missing scenes piece, but it's morphed into a multi-chapter story that also takes Trip back home to his family and then sees him through "Demons" and "Terra Prime" and past. Serious angst ahead, but you'll get your happy ending. T for language and sexual themes.

This stands alone, but it can be read as part of a series of 'missing scenes' stories that begins with _Commander Tucker Falls in Love _and runs through _Commander T'Pol Joins Starfleet_, _Commander Tucker Suffers from Intrusive Daydreams_ and _Commander Tucker Holds Out_, with _Koss _on the side.

Thanks to JustTripn for beta services and bracing arguments about T'Pol!

Disclaimer: Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount, not me. "Demons" was written by Manny Coto. "Terra Prime" was written by Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens.

And needless to say ... I greatly appreciate any reviews ... even critical ones. Thanks!

* * *

Trip pushed through lush greenery. He'd had to resort to asking someone on the bridge to track down T'Pol when he couldn't find her in her quarters or any of the usual spots. He never would have guessed she'd be here: The hydroponics lab was about as non-Vulcan-friendly as a room could get. True, it was warmer than the rest of the ship, but it was also extremely humid, and quite pungent with the seaweed-based nutrients that kept the plants growing happily.

"T'Pol," he said. She was sitting at the only computer monitor in the room.

She looked up. "Commander."

"What happened to _Trip_?"

"Trip," she corrected herself, with a hint of a grimace.

She looked calm, but he could tell she was apprehensive just by the set of her jaw. Or maybe it was the bond. Or maybe he was just projecting his own apprehension. "What are you doing in here?"

"Hydroponics is in my department, as I'm sure you are aware. What are you doing in here?"

"Looking for you." After three days of round-the-clock repairs, trying to fix all the damage Kelby and the Orions had wrought, he was exhausted and cranky. He'd already tried to just go to bed, but he'd tossed and turned, plagued by a strange sense of urgency that this thing with T'Pol just couldn't wait any longer. Finally he'd given up and gone to look for her. "I think we should talk."

She turned to face him, her arms stiff at her sides. "What do you wish to talk about?"

He forced himself not to respond with frustration. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you could tell me a little more about this bond."

She looked down. "I'm not sure how much more I can tell you that would be relevant."

He stared at her. "Is that by any chance another attempt at a joke?"

She looked away from him, clearly uncomfortable. "Trip, you must understand … if I had known that forming a mating bond with a human was possible, I never would have…"

"Jumped my bones?"

"If by that you mean engaging in sexual relations ... yes."

He shifted on his feet. He was already tired. There was only one seat in this place and she was sitting on it. "Do you think we could discuss this someplace more comfortable?"

"Your quarters are not far," she said, rising.

As he followed her out, it sank in that she'd just said she would never have had sex with him if she'd thought there was any chance of forming a bond.

Which meant _what,_ exactly? That this was just another one of his big stupid screw-ups with some alien chick?

To think he'd actually been feeling a little superior to Archer because he hadn't succumbed to those Orion babes.

When all that really meant was that T'Pol now owned his balls.

And didn't seem to have a clue what to do with them.

At the door of his quarters, he decided he couldn't really handle any more depressing revelations. "You know what," he said. "I'm more tired than I realized. I'm thinking maybe it'd be better if we talk about this tomorrow? I'm sorry I interrupted you." He tapped in the code and prayed she would accept his excuse.

"You're upset," she said as the door swished open, and followed him in before he could shut the door in her face.

He didn't answer, just slumped down on his bunk.

She closed the door and sat down on his right. This close, her body pulled on his like a magnet. Even as bitter as he was feeling he still wanted nothing more than to turn and bury himself in her arms. Of course, it was highly unlikely she would appreciate that. Instead, he stared across the room at his desk and tried not to cry. He was so tired – tired from the accumulated fatigue of the last three days, tired from the emotional seesaw of the last two years, tired of discovering strange new ways to screw up his life. Tired of always having to hold himself back.

"I believe I have much to apologize for," T'Pol said heavily.

"Would there be any point?"

She didn't answer. Silence drew out between them.

He ran a hand through his hair and said, "So is this thing permanent?"

Her voice was low. "I don't know. When I said it is widely believed to exist, that is because it appears in pre-reformation Vulcan literature in much the same way "true love" is written about in human literature. Also, when I was younger, my mother told me that when I grew up and married it was likely that I would develop a close psychic bond with my husband. Unfortunately, that was all she told me. Vulcans simply don't discuss deeply emotional matters. Something like this would be considered intensely personal, something to be kept private – even more so than the mechanics of reproduction."

Trip scowled. "The Vulcan Science Directorate hasn't made any determination about the existence of the Vulcan mating bond?"

Her lips thinned. "I'm saying that the Vulcan database has nothing to say on the subject beyond literary references. I believe it is possible that it has taken on some of the same stigma attached to mind melds."

Maybe he could just focus on the mechanics of this thing. "So is that what this is? Some kind of low-key, on-again/off-again mind meld?"

Her eyebrow quirked, and somehow he knew she was relieved at the idea of simply analyzing the phenomenon too. "The experience feels qualitatively different than a mind meld. I don't know your thoughts. It seems more like conversation. But I sometimes do become very conscious of your emotions."

Well, it made sense that this worked in both directions. He winced. He knew some of those emotions had been pretty damned hostile. "Sorry about that."

"Actually, I sometimes find it helpful." She swallowed. "I have noticed that you often seem to wish to deceive me about your true feelings."

He laughed bitterly. "Imagine."

They sat there in an uncomfortable silence. T'Pol didn't seem to know what to make of his last comment, and he didn't really want to get into a debate over who was hiding more feelings from whom, so he changed the subject. "Was your mother bonded to your father?"

"She did not say. But I remember that she was certain of his death before we were told he had been killed. So I consider it likely that she was."

Trip sighed and scooted back so he could lean against the bulkhead. "So now we've got this thing that you didn't think was possible. And your mom is gone so you can't ask her about it. Isn't there anyone else you can talk to?"

T'Pol looked uncomfortable.

"Let me guess," he said. " You don't want to ask anyone for help because then they might find out you've gotten yourself bonded to a human."

"I am not ashamed of you, Trip."

"You're ashamed of something." He patted his chest. "This thing works both ways, you know."

She bowed her head. "I'm ashamed of myself_._ My logic has been suspect. My behavior has been poor. Any Vulcan would be appalled by what I have done."

Trip grimaced. "Well, I wasn't exactly a model of restraint myself. I knew it was a bad idea to get involved with a fellow officer."

He'd merely meant to share some of the blame, but he feltrather than saw that she had interpreted his words as a repudiation of some kind. He could see her tense, as if she was gathering herself to go. He swallowed. "But I _always _had a thing for you."

She turned to look at him.

He licked his lips and decided to go for broke. "And then after all those nights of neuro-pressure, just you and me… I kept telling myself you were just trying to maintain crew efficiency, but it felt like more than that. It felt like I had someone to come home to. And that was _before_ we 'mated.' So I guess what I'm saying is, it's definitely not just some weird-ass Vulcan voodoo going on here, at least on my side."

Her eyes widened, and she took his hand. He stared down at their joined hands, bemused by an odd, suffusing heat that could not be fully explained by her higher body temperature.

"Trip… I do not believe a bond would have formed unless there was genuine regard between the two parties."

He smiled tiredly. "Genuine regard between the two parties, huh?" She sure knew how to sweet-talk a guy.

"I found the idea that you might embark on a relationship with Corporal Cole to be quite intolerable."

He stared at her, surprised that she would admit as much. "But that was _before_..."

She interrupted him with a kiss that almost immediately moved from affectionate to demanding, then to desperation so profound that seconds later they were frantically fighting their way out of their clothes. Trip felt vaguely that perhaps he should try to slow this thing down, but he was afraid to do anything T'Pol might misinterpret, and then he was too far gone to think at all.

Their lovemaking had all the finesse of a runaway matter-antimatter reaction. He was just grateful that he managed, barely, not to breach before she did.

In his post-coital daze, it took him a moment to realize she was crying.

Oh shit. That couldn't be good. What the hell had he done now?

"T'Pol?" he said. "Are you okay?"

She nodded against his chest.

"You're crying."

She didn't answer.

"Vulcans don't cry," he reminded her.

She just lay there on his chest, sniffling.

He brushed his hand over her hair, trying to comfort her. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

She took a shuddering breath. "Never leave again."

"Oh darlin'," he said, and grabbed her tighter. "It wasn't like I ever really wanted to." He had to blink back tears of his own, then. They lay there, clinging to each other.

Time passed. She made no move to leave. He kept thinking: T'Pol is in my bed. T'Pol is in my arms. T'Pol _cried._ Unfortunately, fatigue was quickly catching up to amazement. He was afraid he was going to fall asleep any minute. "Do you want to stay?" he asked, sure she wouldn't, already bracing himself for an awkward goodnight.

"Yes," she whispered.

He was so stunned he didn't react for a moment. Then he reached down to pull the blanket up over them. He turned until they were spooned together on the narrow bunk. He'd so fully expected her to run for the safety of her own quarters, especially after those tears, that his heart welled up with gratitude. He said, "I love you."

She didn't answer, exactly – just snuggled into him a little further and squeezed his hand.

He told himself that she was Vulcan and that simply staying here in his bed was more than enough. A small part of him nonetheless noted the omission with some wariness.

Still, he was glad he'd said it. At least this way he couldn't regret _not_ saying it. And he'd been carrying that particular regret around for a long time.

* * *

The next morning Trip awoke feeling anxious and looked up at the ceiling of his bunk, trying to figure out why.

T'Pol.

She wasn't there.

He sat up quickly, his heart racing. Don't freak, he told himself. She's Vulcan. She'd see no reason not to get up and go. It would be _illogical_ to put off the day's duties. Or maybe she needed to go meditate or something. And she wouldn't know what it meant in human terms, taking off like that without even a word. He looked around his quarters and checked his messages. Nope, nothing.

Damn. This was what the whole rest of his life was going to be like, wasn't it?

Well, he could cope with that, if the nights continued to be anything like the last one. As long as she didn't try to give him some bullshit line about exploring human sexuality over breakfast this morning.

Anyway, that sure as hell wasn't _exploring_ last night. That was just plain-old, pedal-to-the-metal … ah hell, he really didn't have time to think about that now. He got up and went to get ready for the day.

Maybe he'd have time to track her down before his shift started. The worst of the Orion damage – he'd decided he'd better stop thinking of it as Kelby's – had been repaired as of 2200 hours the night before. _Enterprise_ had been called home for a conference, and today Archer wanted him to run the engines harder than Trip would have preferred so soon after such extensive repair work. But Archer also had a good reason: He wanted the crew to have enough time for some extended leave when they got back to Earth. Trip could definitely get behind that.

Maybe he could take her to the Grand Canyon.

He stopped by the mess for a quick breakfast. She wasn't there.

There wasn't any staff meeting scheduled for the morning, either, and he had no good reason to go to the bridge, not with warp 5 on the schedule.

Archer called down to engineering at 0900 sharp. "Are we ready, Trip?"

"I think we're good to go," Trip said. He nodded at Kelby, who eased the warp engine's controls up. Trip held his breath, but nothing blew. He checked in with various crewmembers manning various consoles, and got a bunch of thumbs up. "You've got your warp 5, sir," he said.

"Great," Archer said. After a moment added, "Thank your staff for all their hard work. I'm sure the whole crew will appreciate getting home with some time to spare."

"Yes sir," Trip said.

"See? Another good reason to be glad you're not on _Columbia._"

Trip wondered if T'Pol was sitting there listening to this. "Yes, sir. Another good reason."

Why the hell wasn't the bond doing its thing? He cast his thoughts toward T'Pol, trying to visualize her at her station on the bridge, but it felt about as effective as his childhood attempts at asking God to please give him a new bike as shiny and tricked out as Bobby McMullen's.

He never had gotten a new bike, though he'd cobbled together something good enough from his older brother's hand-me-down. Actually, come to think of it, that bike had outlasted Bobby's by over a year. It never was as shiny and new as Trip had wanted, but it had definitely done the job.

Maybe T'Pol wasn't ever going to be the affectionate woman of his dreams. That didn't mean she wouldn't be plenty good enough. Of course, right now he just wanted to know if she was going to be his woman at all. Theoretically, she was just as stuck with this thing as he was, but he could feel his level of anxiety rising as each hour passed without a word from her. He circulated around engineering, checking in with the crew, reassuring himself that everything was okay. Then he retreated to his desk to catch up on paperwork. After three days of ignoring it, it was piled high.

It was extraordinarily hard to concentrate. He kept thinking about T'Pol. He alternated between thoughts of taking her home to meet his parents, things he could try doing to her the next time he had her in bed, and wondering if she might just try to ignore him for the next seven years now that she'd gotten laid.

When someone tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped half a foot out of his chair.

Kelby looked bemused. "Sir?"

Trip tried to swallow his instinctive annoyance. "Yeah, Kelby?"

"We've got rising pressure readings on one of the conduits we repaired yesterday."

"Damn. Can we route around it while we take a look?"

"Already done, sir."

"Great. Let's check it out."

* * *

Finding the problem turned out to be more challenging than Trip had hoped, but at least it gave him something other than T'Pol to focus on. He told Kelby to keep an eye on engineering while he lost himself in the detailed scans and visual inspections required along a stretch of Jeffries tube in sector 14B, the last sector before the conduit took a turn up toward the port nacelle. He was bending over backward to give Kelby a chance to settle into his new role as second engineer, but he also wanted to see firsthand just what had gone wrong with the repair, in case he needed to reeducate someone on his staff.

First he examined all the sensors that monitored pressure. He couldn't find any faults. Then it was time to check that all the valves were functioning properly, starting with the ones they'd just installed. The fastest way to check for flaws would be to take readings while the plasma required to cool a warp 5 engine circulated through; unfortunately, that also gave him a great shot at dying if the faulty valve blew. He didn't want to have to ask the captain to drop their speed if he could possibly avoid it. So he simply had to scan and scan and scan again, looking for the fault.

"May I be of any assistance, Commander?"

He froze. T'Pol, at last. But she sounded awfully damned professional. He raised his head and stared down the tube. She looked pretty damned professional, too. He lay his head back down for a moment. "T'Pol," he said, acknowledging her.

"Lieutenant Kelby told me you were trying to isolate a problem with one of the repairs."

"That is correct."

"Have you isolated it?"

"Not yet. It's playing possum on me."

Silence.

He decided there were probably not a lot of possums on Vulcan. "We had to shunt the plasma around it," he explained. "So it's not that easy to see where the problem is."

"How much longer do you estimate it will take before you can effect a repair?"

He grimaced. He'd ruled out enough stuff that there were a steadily diminishing number of scenarios left. "Another hour or two."

"Have you eaten, Commander?"

He blinked. "What time is it?"

"1352."

"Oh. Nope."

"You should eat."

"If I do that now, I might have to redo a lot of this. It's better to just let me finish."

"You require sustenance," she said.

Finally reassured that she actually had some concern for him and not just the repair, he perversely felt a rush of impatience. "I'll get something when I'm done. If you were so concerned about me getting sustenance today, why didn't you stick around for breakfast?"

When she didn't answer, he looked back down the tube. She was staring at him.

He didn't need the bond to know a confused Vulcan when he saw one. "Look, don't worry about it." He cringed. Vulcans _didn't_ worry, or if they did they'd rather die than admit it. "I'll catch up with you later, okay? Right now I have a job to do."

She left. Did she even want him to catch up with her later? Well, he was just going to assume she did, until she said otherwise. She'd never been shy about letting him know in the past.

He sighed, and tried to turn his attention back to the mysterious fault.

* * *

An hour later, Trip had finally pinpointed the problem. Once he'd found the defective valve it was so obvious he wondered if his distraction over T'Pol had slowed him down. He was so hungry by then he just waited for Ensign Massaro to show up, showed him how his original repair had gone wrong, and took himself off to the mess hall for something to tide him over until dinner.

He sat in a corner with a sandwich and a cup of coffee and looked out at the stars streaking by outside. Once upon a time traveling through space at warp 5 had been enough to make his heart beat faster. Now it was routine. Maybe even a little oppressive, given that he'd just spent hours doing something that could have taken minutes if they hadn't been in such a big damned hurry.

For some reason he thought about a morning out in the bean patch with his grandma when he was thirteen. He'd been absolutely certain that _anything_ in the universe was more exciting than picking beans. He didn't even like snap beans much, though his grandma had a way of tossing them with bacon and mayonnaise that would probably make cardboard taste good.

Grandma had given him a pencil and said, "Only pick them if they're this thick or thicker." He'd worked resentfully, bent over the low plants and feeling unaccustomed strain on his back and thighs. There were plenty of beans, all right, but a lot of them were too slender for eating.

She'd come by after fifteen minutes and said, "You're missing half of them. You miss them, they get too big and then the plants stop producing. You have to be clever and persistent to pick beans."

"They're _beans,_ Grandma."

"Gardens like this are what kept people alive after the war, Trip. You wouldn't be here today if my parents hadn't known how to grow their own beans and plenty of other stuff too. Look here. You have to look from different angles. Shift position. Lift the plants – gently now! – and look underneath. See all those hanging there? Couple of them are already getting big and tough, just like you."

He swallowed a smile. He'd had a big growth spurt that year, and it pleased him no end when someone noticed.

"You have to have sharp eyes to pick beans. They like to hide. They're designed so you won't see them. See that big one there, hanging right next to the stem? That's it. _Now_ you're picking. You should always do a job as if your life depends on it. You never know when it might."

He'd actually begun to enjoy the picking a little after that. He'd thought of it as a tiny little victory over death every time he picked a bean he might have overlooked.

What would Grandma think of him now, he wondered? He knew she approved of his job. He wasn't so sure what she'd think about his tortured love affair with a fellow officer.

But maybe snap beans and malfunctioning coolant valves and enigmatic Vulcan bond mates all had something in common. Maybe he just needed to be clever and persistent with all of them.

* * *

He checked on the repair – giving Ensign Massaro an impromptu refresher on proper spot-welding while he was at it – took a shower, then headed up to the bridge.

He bent down next to T'Pol and pretended to look at something on her console. "Dinner?" he asked softly.

"The captain has expressed a wish for both of us to dine with him tonight," she said.

"_After_, then," he said, sharply enough that Hoshi looked over with raised eyebrows.

T'Pol gave him an infinitesimal nod.

Trip straightened up and scowled at Hoshi, who had just been exchanging a meaningful smirk with Malcolm.

Hoshi just smiled sweetly back at him. "Everything all right, Commander?" she said.

"Everything's fine," Trip said, and brushed his hand lightly over T'Pol's back as he turned to go over to the engineering station. She didn't react in the slightest, but he felt something rise up from her nonetheless.

Was it relief?

* * *

"So how are we all doing?" Archer asked, after the steward left.

Trip exchanged glances with T'Pol. "Fine," he said.

"I am well," T'Pol said.

Archer waited, his eyes shifting between his two junior officers. "Everything's fine?"

"Engine's purring like a kitten," Trip said. "Has Kelby told you what he wants to do yet?"

"No. You still think he's going to want to go?"

"I'm not sure," Trip said. "He's been okay the last few days. I think maybe he could actually settle in. He's not a bad engineer."

T'Pol looked up from her careful sawing of a piece of celery. "Perhaps his experience with the Orions has persuaded him that he could use more experience before assuming the chief engineer's position."

"It would be nice if those Orions were good for something after all," Archer said. "You know, I was talking to Phlox today, trying to figure out why Trip was the only human on board who wasn't affected."

Trip's eyes rose to meet T'Pol's.

She said, "I believe I can answer that, Captain."

Trip said hastily, "T'Pol, I'm sure the captain doesn't _really _need to know something if you as a Vulcan consider it extremely private."

"Like hell I don't," Archer said. "This could involve the security of my ship."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you're better off not knowing?" Trip asked, a little desperately.

Archer stared at him. "Has it ever occurred to you that I've already made a pretty good guess? And haven't we more or less discussed this already?"

T'Pol frowned across the table at him. "You have already discussed this matter with the Captain?"

"No!" Trip said. "Not the way you think, anyway."

She looked affronted, probably at his suggestion that he knew what she was thinking.

"Captain," Trip said. "Jon. Please. There are some things going on here that we haven't totally figured out ourselves yet. It doesn't make a lot of sense for you to get involved at this point."

Jon looked at him for a long moment, then turned to T'Pol. "If we run across Orion women again, can I assume Trip will remain immune to their influence?"

"I believe so, Captain, but we cannot know for certain, especially if any variables change," T'Pol said.

"What kinds of variables?"

"If I were absent or incapacitated, I don't know what affect that might have on his immunity."

"But just being in a snit with each other wouldn't mess it up?"

T'Pol's eyebrows rose.

"Hell, no," Trip said. "I was in a snit with her practically the whole time those Orions were on board." Noticing that he was the recipient of a very Vulcan glare, he added, "Which just proves we make a hell of a team even when we're not getting along in the slightest."

"I noticed that four years ago, actually," Archer said. He sighed. "Do you think you could keep me and Dr. Phlox apprised of any major developments that could affect ship operations or our mission?"

"Of course," T'Pol said.

"Trip?" Archer said.

"Yeah, sure," Trip said, distracted. He wondered if he could get T'Pol to make the same promise to him.

* * *

When dinner ended, Trip waited for T'Pol outside in the mess hall. "My place or yours?" he asked. He wiped his hands on his legs and hoped he sounded more nonchalant than he felt.

"Do you have a preference?" Her voice was soft, perhaps because they were in a busy public spot.

"I haven't seen your quarters in awhile." He swallowed hard over a sudden lump in his throat. He loved T'Pol's quarters, especially in candlelight, and he'd been exiled from them just as thoroughly as he'd been exiled from her.

She turned and left, so presumably she agreed. He followed and wondered if he was ever going to be able to just spend time with her without constantly trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

At her door, they waited, in unspoken agreement, until the corridor was clear, then Trip followed her in.

She turned around as soon as the door shut behind him. "You've discussed our relationship with the captain?"

"No," Trip said. "Not in so many words."

Her eyes narrowed. "What does 'not in so many words' mean?"

He scowled. Why did he feel guilty about this? "I suppose I may have alluded to our _lack _of a relationship."

T'Pol's face darkened. "When you left for _Columbia_?"

"No. When I _returned _from _Columbia_..." He swallowed. "He's not stupid, you know. And he's also my friend. And yours. He figured it out." He lifted his chin. "He told me you were depressed."

She raised an eyebrow.

"This is where you tell me that Vulcans don't get depressed," he said.

She just looked up at him and said nothing. She turned and walked to the window. "What did you mean when you said this thing between us was 'not such a big deal'?"

"Well," he said slowly, trying to think how best to put this. "At the time, I guess I was trying to keep things light. You know, no pressure. No expectations. Why?"

"I thought perhaps you were trying to suggest you don't place much value on the bond between us."

He felt a surge of outrage. "Were you _there_ last night in my quarters? Did you hear what I said to you?"

"I heard you," she said softly.

"I didn't say it lightly."

She gazed at him as if she were trying to decipher some mystery.

He threw his arms up, frustrated. "Look. Obviously, you've got me on the hook. We're _bonded_. And even if we weren't, I'd probably still be in love with you. Which means you can do whatever the hell you want. All I can do is hang on for dear life and hope like hell I don't get thrown back again_._"

She looked confused and perhaps a bit offended. He decided that the fishing metaphors probably weren't helping. "T'Pol, I'm trying not to be scared out of my wits here. And I'm trying not to scare you off either. I know you find all these emotions messy and illogical and … alarming."

"I seem to provoke a great deal of anger and sadness in you," she said tightly. "Today, when I came to see you…"

"I'm sorry about that," he said. "It's just…it's not easy, okay? I guess there's nobody on Vulcan to tell you that after you sleep with a guy, it's not very good manners to sneak off without saying goodbye."

"I did not 'sneak' off. I simply saw no reason to wake you."

"Yeah, well, I kinda figured that, but it still made me feel nervous all day. I couldn't help thinking that maybe, you know, you'd had second thoughts, or something. It's not like you haven't done that before."

"Any second thoughts I might have had are irrelevant at this point," she said. "We're bonded."

"Right, we're bonded." Irritation flared. "But what the hell does that mean, really?"

"I believe I explained that as best I could last night."

"No, I mean, what does it mean in _human_ terms?"

She blinked at him. "There is no human equivalent that I know of."

"Well, it's gotta fall somewhere on a continuum that makes sense to me. How do I explain this to my mom and dad when we get to Earth? Are we married? Are you my girlfriend? Is this forever, or is this just something we're stuck with until you figure something out?"

She appeared to be at a loss. Finally, she said, "What do you want it to be?"

He stared back at her. Her eyes were so large in her face. "I want to be married to you."

As large as they were, they widened further.

He hadn't thought about it at all; it had just popped out, but even as he said it he knew it was true. He wanted to be married to her. Only then would he be able to relax. "I want you to marry me," he said.

She stared at him. "We wouldn't be able to serve together."

"So we'll resign our posts. We'll do something else." God, what was he saying? Did he mean this? Yes, he did. He had no idea where this was coming from, but suddenly it was the most important thing in the world.

T'Pol, on the other hand, was broadcasting near-panic. "I don't understand how you can move from a desire to keep expectations low to a proposal of marriage in the same conversation."

What was she so scared of? "You're the one who asked me about the 'no big deal' thing. I'm way past that. If you're not…." He started pacing. "You know, maybe the truth is I just don't want to do this again unless I know you're serious about it. And when humans are serious about each other, they get married. Or at least they get engaged to get married. The marriage itself may take a little longer."

"I don't know enough about human marriage."

She was stalling. It was obvious. "You know enough. You just don't want to do it." He felt the dull certainty sink into him like an old friend. She never would want to do it. Better to find out now, right?

"Trip, I am not lacking in seriousness toward you. I'm simply not ready to take that step," she said. "I don't think you are either. There is too much –"

"Don't tell me what I'm not ready for!" He ran his hands through his hair tiredly. "I don't know why I'm surprised or anything. Of course you don't want to do it. Look, I'm sorry, I know this is kind of a mess, but I think I'd better go."

As he walked to the door, the surge of despair from T'Pol was so palpable he almost stumbled. He turned around in time to see her sinking to the floor and folding her arms around herself.

It was the bond. The bond didn't want him to leave her. The bond wanted its mates together. It was like an intrusive third person, pulling and nagging and screwing up any hope of a normal, freely-chosen relationship.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and left. As hard as it was to walk away from her, he just couldn't afford to go down this road for nothing again. He was afraid there would be nothing left of him if he did.

**To be continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimers, etc. in Chapter One

More angst. Don't worry, it will all end well ... eventually...

(And thank you, Escriba and Biancaruth, for your reviews!)

* * *

That night Trip lay in bed and felt cold and lonely and totally, totally justified. He'd just asked her to marry him! She didn't want to! Case closed!

But he was uncomfortably conscious that his completely spontaneous proposal had not exactly been well-thought-out. Did he really want to leave _Enterprise?_ Where would they live? And in terms of romancing T'Pol, if such a thing were even possible, it was not particularly clever – or persistent. Did he really expect the notoriously cautious T'Pol to say yes the first time he brought it up? It certainly didn't fit with the strategy he'd employed over the last month.

Then again, that strategy hadn't really worked either. What had finally worked was honestly being willing to walk away.

And so here he was, honestly walking away.

And there she was, huddled on the floor of her quarters.

When he finally dozed off, he had vivid, painful dreams of Vulcan, of T'Pol in her wedding dress, of that trapped look on her face. It felt so real: the thin air that made him feel continually short of breath, the crushing grief in his heart as she married a man she didn't love. But in the dream, T'Les shook her head sorrowfully and said, "You should have told her."

He woke up with his heart pounding: why hadn't he told her?

But he _had._ He had told her. And it hadn't mattered.

He got up and got ready for the day, going through the motions, feeling shaky and ill. But instead of going to the mess hall as he intended, his feet took him to her quarters. He buzzed before he could think better of it.

After a long moment, the door slid open. She looked up at him silently and stood back, allowing him in. He noticed that she hadn't changed her outfit.

"Are you all right?" he asked gruffly.

She didn't answer, just moved back into the room and sank down onto her meditation cushion.

"T'Pol?" he prompted her. He kneeled down across from her, uncomfortably remembering past attempts to get her to open up to him. He sighed, suddenly certain that this was a pointless effort. "Did you sleep at all?" It didn't look like it. There were dark circles under her eyes.

"I have been attempting to meditate," she said.

"Attempting?"

"I have not been entirely successful." Her tone was flat, even by her standards.

He waited, watching, and finally said, "What are we going to do?"

She looked up at him. "I believe we are operating without important information. When we return to Earth, I will speak with a Vulcan priest at the compound and try to learn more about the nature of the mating bond. Perhaps…." She stopped and took a measured breath. "Perhaps, if there were a way to remove that from this equation, we could both think more clearly about our choices."

His heart contracted. "You want to break the bond?"

Her voice was very soft. "It's clear that you feel entrapped by it."

"You weren't listening to me. I only feel trapped if you don't return my feelings, or you aren't willing to do anything differently because of them. Because then I _am_ trapped. It's not like I can say, okay, fine, whatever, I guess I'll move on with my life. It's not like I can go fall in love with someone else."

T'Pol bowed her head. "I understand. If we cannot remove the bond, I will marry you…if that is still your wish."

He slumped. "You know, I always kinda hoped that when I got married, it would be to someone who could work up a little enthusiasm forthe idea."

"There are significant reasons to doubt a marriage between us would be successful. There is also information about me, about us, that you should have before you take a step as important as marriage. It may materially alter your feelings in this matter."

His eyes narrowed. "What kind of information?"

She said nothing, just hunkered down into a smaller space, but the spike of shame she felt was unmistakable.

"T'Pol. Tell me."

"I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"I'm not ready."

"You're not ready, or you're hoping you won't have to?"

"I need to prepare for my shift," she said, and rose shakily to her feet.

He rose to his feet as well. He was getting too old for this not-sleeping shit. "What could be so awful that you wouldn't want to tell _me?_"

"I'm sorry." She walked into her bathroom.

She was afraid, he could see that. But of what?

* * *

It was a long, tedious day of constant tweaks to the engine mix and hyper-vigilance of the related systems. Enough minor blow-outs occurred that he successfully lobbied Archer down to warp 4.2 for six hours that night. He didn't totally trust the gamma shift to be able to handle a rapidly cascading problem and there was no way he wanted to stay up for it, nor was it fair to keep Kelby up the whole night.

He tried to go to bed early, but once he was lying down all he could do was wonder what it was T'Pol was so afraid to tell him. Had she had an affair with Jon? Did she have a secret identity? Had she killed somebody? Did she have a love child somewhere? Nude pictures? A terminal illness? Multiple personalities? Was it possible she simply suffered from a pathological need to keep him continually off-balance? Finally, desperate, he threw on some clothes and went to see Phlox. "Could give me something to help me sleep?"

The Denobulan eyed him thoughtfully. "It's been awhile since you've asked for something like that. Is something wrong?"

"Please, Doc. I just want to sleep."

"Lieutenant Reed was telling me just the other day that warm milk with a pinch of nutmeg works wonders for him. I was surprised I'd never heard of it before. Would you like to try it?"

"No, I'd like that nice hypospray you used to give me after Lizzie died."

"What about some neuro-pressure with Commander T'Pol? I believe you found that quite effective."

"That's not an option."

"I see." Phlox grimaced. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"No." Trip bit his lip. "Well….Do you know anything about Vulcan mating bonds?"

Phlox's eyebrows went up. "Mating bonds? I'm afraid I've never heard the term before in association with Vulcans. Various animal species, of course, and I believe also Rigelians, yes. Hmm. Are you saying you have one?"

"So I'm told."

"How interesting! Would _this_ be the cause of your mysterious immunity to the Orion women?"

"That's the current theory."

"Oh, my. I think I'll have to have you both in for some further evaluation, if you don't mind. And this bond, it also prevents you from sleeping?"

"No. Not per se." He double-checked to make sure no one else was in the room. "I asked her to marry me, but she doesn't seem too interested."

"Ah." Phlox gave him a sympathetic wince.

"You've got three wives. You got any advice?"

"I'm afraid not. Among Denobulans it is the women who traditionally propose marriage. Though I have to admit, I did _hint _about the subject a fair amount to my first wife! I was afraid she'd never take me on, and I knew I wasn't the only eligible young fellow to catch her eye. Quite a catch, that one. Ah, the heady aroma of her—"

Trip quickly interrupted. "T'Pol said there's stuff I don't know about her."

Phlox's face turned cautious. "Did she?"

"I guess you couldn't give me a hint even if you knew what it was."

"No, Commander, of course not," Phlox said. "But if she's told you that much, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before you learn the rest." He went and got his hypospray, and gave Trip a dose. He smiled supportively. "I do believe she is quite fond of you. You know the drill, now. Straight back to your quarters. No dawdling!"

* * *

Trip collapsed onto his bunk just as his door chime went off.

He pulled himself reluctantly out of bed. T'Pol stood there at his door, her eyebrows drawn together. "Yes?" he said.

"Are you ill?" she asked.

"Phlox gave me something to help me sleep." He aimed for his bunk and crawled back into it. "I couldn't face another night like the last one."

"Oh," she said, and stood uncertainly next to his bed.

"Is it making you sleepy?" he guessed.

"A little dizzy," she said.

"Sorry. It should wear off pretty soon." He nuzzled into his pillow, too doped up to muster any real concern. "Could you turn the light off?"

The light went off. A moment later she crawled over him and settled in next to him.

He didn't remember inviting her to do that. She was wearing nothing but her tank top and underwear, but he was too sleepy to care one way or the other. "G'night," he mumbled.

"Good night," she whispered back.

They slept.

* * *

This time he woke up with a warm Vulcan next to him, watching him.

"Hey," he said.

"Good morning."

Should he kiss her? Maybe he'd better not push it. He blinked, vaguely remembering the night before. "You feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I believe I needed sleep as well."

"So my sleep meds made you sleepy too. This could get a little dicey. Does this mean if I drink too much you're going to get drunk?"

"I believe that I would have been more successful in blocking the effects if I had managed to meditate successfully yesterday. But I was also concerned that you were not well."

"How long have you been awake?" he asked, checking the time. His alarm would be going off in just a few minutes.

"Two hours and seventeen minutes."

"You didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

"That is correct."

"Thank you," he said, and sat up. "I appreciate that. I guess it's kind of silly, though, you having to lie around for two hours and seventeen minutes just to keep me happy."

"It is not a particularly efficient use of my waking time," T'Pol agreed.

"I need to take a quick shower," he said. "You gonna be here when I get back?"

"I thought perhaps you would like to engage in sexual relations. You appear to be quite aroused."

He nearly choked. "Well. Um, well, normally I would say sure thing, but I don't think we really have time for that sort of thing right now."

"Are you certain?"

He could feel his face turning red. "No, but let's pretend I am. You want to eat lunch together?"

"That would be agreeable."

He leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips. "Great. See you later then, darlin'."

* * *

What a difference it made, just knowing that he would see her at lunch. The morning raced by.

"I'd like you to meet my folks," Trip said, as soon as they were sitting together in the mess hall.

T'Pol looked up from her broth, her expression guarded. "What do they know about me?"

He shrugged. "Just stuff. I've talked about you quite a bit over the years, but I never told them we were … you know. I guess they might have guessed something was up." He grimaced. "Or maybe not. Last time I was home they were pretty much coping with their own issues." His dad had been drinking pretty heavily, he remembered that, still angry and morose about losing his younger daughter. Trip, just home from his nightmare visit to Vulcan, had joined in with enthusiasm, at least until his mother read him the riot act. "One self-pitying Tucker is all I can stand in this house," she said. "I can't control your daddy, but I don't have to watch you go down the same road. Either sober up, or go drink someplace else."

So he'd gone to Hawaii, where he'd stopped drinking, aware that he'd need to be back to work soon and mindful that the ocean was holding far too much appeal for him, because he kept fantasizing about swimming out into the waves until he couldn't swim any longer. Eventually he'd met up with Malcolm, who was only too happy to leave his parents' house early. He remembered he'd tried to flirt with a few pretty women while Malcolm played the Starfleet hero poolside, but he just couldn't maintain his interest. He spent quite a lot of time politely avoiding the hotel room they were sharing, drinking coffee and wondering what was going on sixteen light years away.

Wait a minute.

"We were bonded when you married Koss."

T'Pol gave him a sharp look. "Perhaps we should take this discussion elsewhere?"

He lowered his voice. "Nobody can hear us. We were, weren't we?"

"I believe so," T'Pol said. "Do you not remember, the night before the wedding, when we shook hands?"

"I felt what you were feeling."

"Yes."

"You know, I really wanted to kill him that night. It felt very strange. Was that you?"

"I don't know," T'Pol said. "I considered calling the challenge, of course, but I feared you be killed."

"_Killed?_"

"Having rivals fight to the death for you remains a valid option in the Vulcan marriage tradition."

He stared at her. "That doesn't sound very logical."

"There is nothing particularly logical about Vulcan mating practices." Her tone was bitter. "However, the _kal-if-fee_ has become quite rare in modern times."

Suddenly her reservations about going into a marriage when she didn't know the customs made more sense to him. "I wasn't exactly on my best behavior when I went home. Drank way too much. Did you feel that?"

"I don't know," T'Pol said. "I was attempting extended meditation on Mount Seleya, but I found it extremely difficult."

Trip snickered. "I got you drunk."

"Actually, what I most remember was an oppressive sense of hopelessness."

"That sounds about right," he said softly. He chewed his lip for a moment. "T'Pol, when are you going to tell me what you need to tell me?"

There was no mistaking that sharp spike of fear through the bond. He watched her hands grip the table until her knuckles turned white. Whatever it was, it must be very bad. "Look," he said. "What if I _promise _you that it won't change anything?"

"You can't promise that when you don't know what it is."

"Nothing you tell me could be any worse than when I had to watch you marry Koss."

She blinked a few times, looked away. "After I talk to the priest."

"You still want to do that? What's the point?" His voice had risen, prompting several crewmen to look their way.

T'Pol lowered her voice. "We should know all our options."

"I don't need any damned options! You're the only one who wants options!" He stood up, seething. It seemed like she just wouldn't be content until she'd found a way to break his heart again. "Sometimes I just don't understand you at all," he said, and left.

* * *

She didn't come to him that night; he didn't go to her. There was no contact beyond that required by their jobs the next day, or the rest of the week required to get back home. The engines kept him busy; he was going to be relieved when they arrived at the Solar system and Archer finally had to drop out of warp. At least all that speed had bought the crew a week and a half of leave. Trip made arrangements to visit his parents in Mississippi and then take them with him on a trip to his sister's place in Ireland.

The night before they were to arrive home, Archer asked him to join them for dinner, so he did. T'Pol was quiet. Trip couldn't think of anything to say either. Archer looked between his two senior officers and sighed. "So what are you doing during your leave, Trip?"

"Visiting my folks and my older sister. I promised my nephew I'd drop in at his school and answer any questions they might have four years later. Hopefully not about poop this time. How about you?"

"I hope to meet up with Danica at some point, see how's she's holding up, but I'll also be pretty involved in the prep for this conference."

Trip smiled politely. Archer had a passion for diplomacy that far surpassed his own. The captain had already made it clear that he expected all his senior officers to attend the opening ceremony, which meant returning to duty a day early.

"What are you going to do, T'Pol?" Archer asked.

"I will most likely stay at the Vulcan compound in Sausalito," T'Pol said.

"Maybe if you've got some free time, you could help with this conference too," Archer said.

"Perhaps," T'Pol said, with a glance at Trip.

"Sounds like a plan," Trip said. She hadn't actually said yes or no to meeting his parents before, and he saw no point in renewing his invitation now. Not with so much uncertainty between them. He couldn't help thinking that she still wanted out at some level, and it was clear she didn't trust him with the truth. Trip had begun to think the best thing would be if they _could _get out of it. Even if it took years, at least he'd be free of this awful dragging weight when it was over. He'd find some nice, normal human woman who had at least slightly comprehensible motives, and he'd marry her and have children and a dog and a yard and a job that never made him stay up all night, and he'd never, ever look back at all this crazy alien shit ever again.

T'Pol bowed her head.

Archer stopped chewing and glanced between them. "Still nothing going on I need to know about?"

"Nothing going at all," Trip said. "You planning to catch up on water polo while you're home?" He wouldn't look at her. He could feel her staring at him, willing him to look at her, but he wouldn't.

No, damn it, he'd just wait to hear the verdict.

* * *

He took a ground car to his parent's home in Mississippi. He had an Andorian symphonic piece he hoped his mother would appreciate. He wasn't fond of its brittle atonal intricacies, but she was a mathematician who liked music far more complex than he did, and Shran had said it was the most important piece of music Andoria had produced in the last two hundred years.

He'd also brought a bottle of Andorian ale, after clearing it ahead of time with his mom. Apparently Dad had finally moderated his intake. He hoped this meant they were both feeling better than the last time.

He rang the doorbell and waited for the onslaught. At least he wouldn't have to worry about T'Pol surviving a Tucker welcome.

The thought triggered a pang of regret so profound that he inhaled sharply. But then his mother was pulling him into her arms, his grandmother was shrieking about how tall and handsome he was, and his dad was pounding him on the back. And he smelled a pie in the oven.

It was good to be home.

* * *

Dinner was fried catfish and hushpuppies with grits and broccoli. Trip ate well and tried not to reflect that T'Pol probably could have eaten everything except the fish. His grandmother looked much more fragile than the last time, he noticed, and his mother looked older and tired, too. His father was more like his old self, and peppered him with questions about the warp engine and their adventures. Trip caught up on all the family gossip and was concerned to hear that his sister and her husband were having issues.

"We'll never get that granddaughter at this rate," his dad complained.

"Are we still going to see them?" Trip asked.

"Oh hell yes," his mother said. "Got to see my grandson. If Patrick doesn't like it, he can just take himself off to the pub."

"Like he usually does anyway," his father muttered.

"Maybe that's just a cultural difference, Dad," Trip said. "I think my friend Malcolm would spend every night in a bar if he could."

"Likes his beer, does he? Isn't he your tactical officer?"

"He's no drunk. He just … likes bars." And the kind of women you met in bars.

"Patrick's a drunk," his dad said, definitively.

Trip and his mother exchanged glances and his mother gave a little shrug: _whatever._

"Speaking of drunks, I brought you some Andorian ale," Trip said. "Packs quite a wallop."

His father looked interested. "You want a glass after dinner?"

"Honestly, I'd rather have a beer."

"Good," his dad said. "Then I can save the other stuff until I can bring it out and tell people _look what my son the Starfleet officer brought me from Andoria._" He grinned. "None of the old coots around here can beat that."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," his mother said. "Aliens are not very popular right now."

"That's still going on?" Trip asked, concerned.

"Eh, they're just bored now that the world isn't about to end any minute anymore," his dad said.

"No, they're being stirred up," his grandmother said, finally looking up from her intense focus on her food. Trip had noticed it was taking her forever to chew anything. "You mark my words, this is going to get nasty. I've seen this kind of thing before."

"Your grandma quit her church last month because the preacher started going on about the alien threat to humanity," his mom said.

"I always thought he was a puffed-up little yahoo, but that was the last straw," Grandma said. "And what's worse, those people were eating it up. I stood right up in the pew, and told him _In Jesus' day, the Samaritans were the aliens and Jesus had a thing to say about that, didn't he?_ And then I walked right out of there and I haven't darkened their door since."

"Good for you, Grandma," Trip said.

"Yeah, except now I don't have a goddamned church," Grandma grumbled. "I'm too old to start over in a new one. And that goddamned little weasel, if I saw him coming to bless me on my deathbed, I'd have to turn right over and die before he got there."

Trip grinned, but his mom sighed. Trip thought he had an idea why she was looking so tired.

"How's your alien friend doing, Trip?" his mother asked. "The one who got married?"

"That's been annulled, actually."

His mother's eyebrows went up. "That was quick. What happened?"

"Her mom died. Her mother was the only reason she'd gotten married in the first place."

"So what's she doing during this leave? Does she have other family to visit?"

"No," Trip said. "She's in California. At the Vulcan Compound." He hoped he sounded nonchalant.

"You should invite her over. It must be lonely not having any family to see."

He smiled stiffly. "Maybe next time."

**To be continued **

**(Reviews much appreciated!!!)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers in Chapter 1. **

**Many thanks for the reviews. Let's see if this works properly this time!**

* * *

_Enterprise_ had calibrated her clocks to Pacific Standard Time, which may have been part of the reason Trip lay in bed that night feeling restless and wishing he had more of that hypospray Phlox had given him. Of course, who knew what that would do to T'Pol over in the Vulcan Compound. She couldn't just come crawl into the big queen-sized guest bed here.

He couldn't help wondering what it would have been like to share it with her, assuming he'd had the nerve to introduce her as his girlfriend or lover or whatever the hell she was. Or had been.

He finally gave up on sleeping and crept down the hall into the family room as quietly as he could. He slipped down in front of the monitor and logged into his Starfleet account. There were eight messages, two of which were from Jupiter Station, notifying him of maintenance and repairs performed in his absence.

One was official notice from HR: Kelby had decided to stay. And a separate message from Archer: _Kelby decided to stay. Hope that's good news._ _Your Southern charm has won the day again._

_Yeah, it's good news,_ Trip answered back, hoping he wouldn't regret it. _Thanks._

Also from HR, Ensign Massaro had requested a transfer at the end of his current tour, in two months. Did Trip have any opinion on that? Trip was a little taken aback, but not unwilling to see the young man go. He wasn't one of the more gifted members of his staff and he sometimes took a maddeningly passive approach to his job.

Archer had also chimed in: _Any problem with this? _

_Nope,_ Trip wrote back. _It's fine with me. I wish him well._

Malcolm had sent him: _Hawaii? Parents already making me insane._

Trip snorted. _Not this time, Mal. Aloha. P.S. Avoid cellars._

Anna Hess had sent him a message. _Hey, boss. Come visit us in SF if you get a chance and I'll try not to barf on you. (Yes, we have happy news!) And you HAVE to see the new wing in the R&D complex._

_That's great news, Anna, _Trip wrote back, feeling wistful. _I'll definitely try to stop by. I'll let you know when I'm in town._

As he sat there another message popped up. He breathed in sharply – it was from T'Pol. Then he realized it was probably just a typical XO message about the personnel changes.

_Trip, I hope you are enjoying your stay with your family. The priest has agreed to speak to me tomorrow afternoon. I will let you know what he says. Please know that you are always uppermost in my thoughts. _

His heart swelled. Uppermost in her thoughts. That was practically a declaration of love, wasn't it, by Vulcan standards?

He typed: _I love you too._

But then he thought better of it. He erased it, wrote: _And you in mine._

He hovered over the "send" command for a moment, then sat back and stared at what he had written. He read her message again a few times. She was going to see the priest the next day. And if that priest said the bond could be broken…

Finally, he erased again and wrote: _I'll wait to hear._ And sent it.

She opened it almost immediately. He knew it because he could feel it in his stomach, hitting hard and low, like a blow.

He went out into the screened-in back porch, sat in the rocking swing and listened to the cicadas and the frogs and the mysterious night-rustlings. He cried for a little bit and then he just sat there. It felt like maybe in his own way he was keeping vigil – sitting a death watch for something that had been doomed before it started.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing out here?" his father demanded.

Trip shuddered awake. His face was practically glued to the waterproof cushion of the rocking swing, where he'd curled up ineffectively under an old afghan that smelled of mildew. He sat up creakily. "I couldn't sleep," he said.

His father shook his head. "You always were a crazy child," he said. "Come get some coffee."

Trip followed him in. His mother and grandmother both stared at him from their seats at the kitchen table. "Well, lookee what the cat dragged in," Grandma said.

"I'm gonna take a hot shower," he said. He was chilled to the bone.

"Use soap," Grandma said, and cackled.

In the shower he cast his thoughts toward T'Pol, but as often happened he got no impressions at all. Just a chilly blankness that made him think this whole bond thing had been some crazy hallucination to begin with. Which it might as well have been, he told himself, trying to relax under the hot stream of water, so much more powerful than anything on _Enterprise._ He had no doubt that the Vulcan priest would be eager to help T'Pol extricate herself from her indelicate situation. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, he tried telling himself. When this is over you'll be free. No more screwed-up Vulcan bullshit to work around. You'll be able to just focus on your job.

Eventually, he gave up and shut off the water. He just couldn't get warm.

* * *

"It's too cold for swimming today," his mom said, when he finally came downstairs. "But it's not a bad day for a sail. What do you say?"

"Sounds good," Trip said, relieved they'd come up with something instead of asking him to set the agenda.

He saw his parents look at each other. "Great," his mom said. "I'll get the hamper packed, you help Daddy with the gear. And get yourself something warm to wear on the water."

At the marina, he breathed in the salt air and thought, yes, this would do. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and he was soothed by the old familiar sounds: the dinging of lanyards against metal masts, the gulls screaming, the waves softly lapping against hulls, the humming motors of boats coming and going. He let his parents get the boat launched, merely following their instructions. They had their own routine and he didn't know these waters anyway. The wind was steady but not fierce enough to heel them over. Once they were well out in the bay he sprawled across the bow under the shadow of the jib and fell asleep.

He woke when his mother called. "Have some lunch, honey," she said, so he crawled back to the well and sat with his parents, drinking hot coffee and eating sandwiches.

"Sorry," he said. "I guess I'm still adjusting to Mississippi time."

"Well, don't get too adjusted," Mom said. "We're off to Ireland in two days. I always get a terrible lag on that one."

His father eventually said, "You know, that nap you were taking up there looked awfully appealing. I think I might just give it a try." He headed up to the bow.

Trip squinted after him. His daddy was tall and a bit knock-kneed and had never been one for clambering around the boat. He liked to sit in the back and hold the tiller, much as he held on to the remote when he sat on the sofa to watch the video feed.

"So what's the matter, Trip?" his mom asked.

He scowled. They had planned this, hadn't they? "I'm fine, Mom," he said. "Really."

"You're pining about something. Or someone. And I'm guessing it's not just Lizzie, so spill it."

"I'm just tired," he said. "I think maybe I'm a little burned out, that's all."

"Last time it was that Vulcan woman. Maybe it still is?"

Trip stared at her, surprised his mom had been able to figure that out. They'd seemed so overwhelmed by their own losses. "Well," he said, looking away, "if it is, the more fool me."

"I'd like to meet this woman," his mom said. "She must be something else to have you so tied up in knots. Maybe I could knock her upside the head for ya."

Trip laughed despite himself. "I wouldn't recommend that. I've seen her kick a great big Klingon's ass."

His mother made a course correction, trimmed the mains'l accordingly, then turned to eye him thoughtfully. "You gonna be all right?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah, Mom, don't worry. Give me a decade or two, maybe a lobotomy, I'll be fine."

She smiled. "You always did take these things to heart. You and your dad are alike that way. I can't help but worry about you."

"He seems a lot better," Trip said.

"Yes," his mother said. "Damned good thing, too. I was about ready to kill the bastard."

* * *

They bought shrimp po-boys at the dock for dinner, had an extra one wrapped up for Grandma, and headed home.

"There was a lady called for you," Grandma said. "Commander DePaul or something like that. Wouldn't give me her first name. She asked if you could call her back."

"Guess I'd better call her back then," he said, with a glance at his mother, and went down the hall to find his communicator. He sat down and willed his heart to stop thudding in his chest. It wasn't like he didn't know what to expect. "Tucker to T'Pol," he said.

"T'Pol ."

"You called earlier?"

"Yes. I spoke to the priest."

Trip waited, but she didn't continue. "And?" he said, sharply.

"He said he doesn't know."

"You've got to be kidding me."

Silence on the other end.

Trip sighed. "Did he know who _would_ know?"

"He said nobody would know. He said we could try to attempt to let it fade away with time, but there's no guarantee that would work. He also agreed that in our case there may be complicating issues."

"Namely?"

"I'd rather not talk about them over this channel."

Trip rolled his eyes. Of course not. She would rather not talk about them at all.

She surprised him by saying, "I could come meet you if you wish. I would be willing to travel to your location."

Trip sighed. "Is there any chance that conversation is going to end with you agreeing to marry me before I die of old age_?_"

Silence.

He'd had enough of this. "You know, I'm with my family right now, and I really don't want to get them involved in something that probably isn't going anywhere. We can get together when I get there for the conference, okay? I'll give you a call when I'm in town." He ended the call.

* * *

Things were a little tense in the little house known as Journey's End in Kenmare, County Kerry.

Patrick greeted Trip at the shuttle from Cork with an earnest handshake and a clap on the back, then dropped them at the house and said he was awfully sorry, but he had to get back to work. Hannah scowled as he drove off. "We might not see him again until the pubs close," she muttered.

"Tell us how you've been, dear," his mother said.

"No, Trip has to tell me how _he's_ been," Hannah said, grabbing her brother in a big bear hug. "I haven't seen you since – oh, such a long time!" She backed up and eyed him critically. "You know, I think you're finally looking old enough to be a big famous Starfleet Commander."

"Why thanks, sis," Trip said. "Is that a little grey I see in _your_ hair?"

"No doubt," she said. "Patrick's making me old before my time."

"Oh boy," their dad said. "Maybe we should _all _head to the pub."

"No, no, I already have a lovely tea set up. Let's do the Irish thing while we still can."

Trip watched his parents exchange worried glances. "Where's Liam?" he asked.

"School," Hannah said. "He'll be home in a bit. They're all very excited that you've agreed to go in and talk to them tomorrow."

"I'm looking forward to it," Trip said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

* * *

The next afternoon, Liam's classmates were disappointed that Trip wasn't able to give them an eyewitness account of the Xindi weapon being destroyed. Trip began to wish he'd come armed with some Starfleet video of things blowing up. He'd already talked about how phase cannons and photonic torpedoes worked, and explained that they didn't actually walk around the ship armed with phase pistols on a regular basis.

"How many Xindi Reptilians did you see in the Expanse?" a boy demanded.

"More than I wanted to," Trip said.

"Did you kill any?"

"No, not personally."

"Have you killed _anybody_?"

"I'm the chief engineer," Trip said, happy to dodge the question. "I help us win by keeping the ship running. And while Captain Archer was destroying the weapon, Commander T'Pol and I were on _Enterprise_, destroying the system of spheres that was responsible for forming the Expanse. That's how we got the Xindi Aquatics to help us against the Reptilians and the Insectoids. We couldn't have won without that."

Silence. "Do you have a girlfriend?" a girl asked.

Trip stuck his tongue in the side of his cheek and glanced at the teacher, who gave him a sickly smile. "You know, I think that's a little more personal than I want to go. Would anyone like to know how you get a ship to go warp 5?"

Dead silence.

"Do you think aliens ought to be allowed to live on our planet and use our resources?" another girl asked.

"What?" Trip said, taken aback.

"Do you think…"

"I heard ya. Yeah, I think aliens should be allowed to live on our planet, if they want to. I think you'll find most of them prefer to live on their own planets. I know Commander T'Pol thinks earth is too cold and too humid. I think you'll find that most of the aliens who live here are basically here because they're trying to help us out."

"Do you think it's wise to let aliens serve on our ships?" a boy asked, clearly skeptical.

Trip blinked. "_Wise?_ Look, I can tell you this. If we hadn't had Commander T'Pol from Vulcan and Dr. Phlox from Denobula on our ship, Earth would be a big cloud of cosmic debris right now. Everyone on this planet would be dead. Those _aliens_ were extremely important to the success of our mission. And neither of them had to go out there with us. Their planets weren't at risk. They volunteered. Not to mention that if General Shran from Andoria hadn't showed up with his warship to help when he did, you wouldn't be here right now either. And frankly, you're _crazy_ if you think it makes sense to try to exist in a universe as dangerous as this one without any alien allies!"

The kids stared back at him with big eyes. Liam's were as big as anyone's. In the back of the classroom, even his sister's mouth was hanging open.

The teacher cleared her throat. "Thank you so much, Commander Tucker, for coming in to see us today," she said. "I know we all appreciate your heroic service. Children, thank Commander Tucker."

A chorus of subdued thank you's ensued.

"It was my pleasure," Trip said meekly, and walked out.

Hannah followed him out into the hall and patted him on the back. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be all right. Sorry about that. I just couldn't believe the question."

"Eh, don't worry, the little brats needed to hear it. Alien-bashing is getting out of hand. The Xindi attack caused a lot of paranoia, and some of the politicians have decided to milk that for all it's worth. I'm a little surprised to hear it coming from these kids, though."

"So am I," Trip said. They signed out of the school and walked out onto the street. Apart from the modern ground cars parked up and down the road, quaint Kenmare looked as if it hadn't changed much in 400 years. "Have these kids even _met_ an alien in person before?"

"Of course they have. On field trips. But you could invite your Vulcan friend to come talk to them, if you want. What's her name again? T'Pol?"

"I'd be a little worried about what they might say to her right now."

"Well, at least with Vulcans you don't have to worry about hurting their feelings."

Trip grimaced. "Just because they don't show their feelings doesn't mean they don't have them."

Hannah cocked her head. "And you would know this how?"

Trip gave his sister a sour look. "So what's up with you and Patrick?"

Hannah punched him in the arm. "You're changing the subject."

"Damn straight I am."

Hannah laughed, then sobered. "Patrick is bored stupid with the whole being married thing. And frankly, I've had enough of it too. I don't want to spend the rest of my life tethered to a man who finds me so uninteresting."

"He said he wants out?"

"He's never home long enough to tell me he wants out."

"You ever go out with him?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. "I've tried. Hanging around the same pub every night bores _me _stupid."

"Well, have you two seriously tried to work it out at all? Have you seen a counselor?"

Hannah scowled.

Trip sighed. He knew he was in no position to give advice, but he also knew his sister could be as stubborn as they come. "Seems kinda sad to let a marriage just peter out without trying your best to save it."

"So says the bachelor."

"Yeah, I know," Trip said. "Do you know what time it is in California?"

Hannah looked at her watch. "Six in the morning. Have you got someone to call?" She smiled a little too innocently.

"After what I heard in there, I just want to check on a few things."

* * *

"Did I wake you?" He had waited until 8am her time, but it had taken her awhile to answer his hail. He'd gone out into the back garden for privacy, into the chill dusk. He paced across the spongy lawn, trying to keep warm.

"I was meditating."

"Oh. Sorry. T'Pol, have you been outside the Vulcan Compound at all?"

"I'm not staying at the Vulcan Compound. I'm in Starfleet quarters."

"But I thought you said…"

"There were no rooms available at the Vulcan Compound. They are currently experiencing significant overcrowding."

"Because of the political climate?"

"Yes. A number of Vulcans who had been living outside have moved back into the compound at the recommendation of the Consulate."

"I was just talking to some kids at my nephew's school today. I hadn't realized how widespread this thing has become. I don't understand it."

"It is somewhat puzzling to me as well."

He watched through the yellow-lit window as his father went up behind his mother and put his hands on her shoulders. His mother leaned back into that embrace. "You're taking precautions, right?" he said.

"I do not feel that any are necessary here on the grounds of Starfleet."

"I take it you're helping to set up the conference?"

There was the slightest element of irritation in her voice as she said, "Yes."

Trip felt a pang of guilt. "I'll be there Tuesday. We'll talk then, okay? Tuesday afternoon?"

"That is acceptable."

He thought about saying, "I miss you," but decided against it. "Take care, then," he said, instead.

"And you. T'Pol out." She closed the channel.

He heard his mother laugh at something someone had said, saw his father smile in appreciation of his mother's laugh. How long had they been married now? Forty-two, forty-three years? Was it perhaps the laughing that made that possible?

He shivered. Best to go in.

* * *

After dinner that night, Patrick stood up and rubbed his hands on his trousers. "That was delicious. Well, I'm off. Who's with me?"

No one responded. Hannah angrily got up and took dishes to the kitchen, where she could be heard slamming crockery and cutlery around.

"I'll go with you," Trip said.

They walked into town, into a cozy old bar called O'Donnábhains. Patrick said hi to everyone there and introduced his brother-in-law around. Trip got the impression he'd been bragged about before, since the locals seemed to know all about _Enterprise's_ adventures. They cheerfully ragged him about how them in Starfleet had managed to avoid saving the planet until the last possible second, no doubt trying to get a good pay rise out of it. Trip took it with good humor, just thankful that nobody was complaining to him about aliens.

Eventually, they were left to themselves and Trip said, "Are you planning to divorce my sister?"

Patrick spit a mouthful of amber beer back into his pint glass. "Come again?"

"She says you no longer have any interest in her."

Patrick made a face. "That's daft. God knows she has a bit of a mouth on her, but I still like her well enough. Is this about her birthday?"

"I don't know anything about that. But I think do she may be about ready to throw in the towel. And you know Hannah. You don't want to get in her way once she's made up her mind about something."

Patrick stared at him open-mouthed. Then he closed his mouth and frowned. "You'd think she might have dropped a hint."

Trip wondered how Patrick had managed to overlook Hannah's obvious fit of rage after dinner, or all the cutting remarks she'd been dropping. "Maybe you should try talking to her."

Patrick shuddered. "Oh, God help me. When that one gets going…"

"Go off somewhere without Liam and have it out," Trip said. "Or, better yet, we'll take him off your hands, and you talk to her. Tomorrow. We want to go up and see the Giant's Causeway anyway. How's that sound?"

"I was hoping to show you and your da some good fishing tomorrow."

Trip stared him down.

Patrick sighed and signaled for another pint. "I'd better fortify myself."

* * *

Two days later, Trip stood outside the shuttle port at the Presidio and looked out over the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. He'd seen an awful lot of beautiful coastline over the last week and a half.

Vast bodies of water were a balm to his soul. He wondered how they seemed to a woman who'd grown up on a desert planet. Did she find them beautiful, too – or bleak and intimidating, the way he found Vulcan's brutal deserts? Hell, he didn't even like Earth's deserts.

When they'd gotten back to Journey's End Sunday evening, Hannah and Patrick had looked as if they'd survived a tempest. They were practically limp, but at least the tension had broken, and Hannah looked a lot happier. There were flowers on the table. They were touching each other again.

Trip was both relieved and depressed. He wished it could be as simple as that for him.

He dropped in on Anna Hess at R&D. The facilities were indeed impressive, and so was Anna's belly. "Look at you," Trip said, grinning.

"Low tech and high tech," Anna said, gesturing between her swollen abdomen and the hulking mass of a new engine prototype. "Want the tour?"

"Of course," Trip said. "But, honestly now. How can you stand having such a normal life?"

She laughed. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

* * *

He ate lunch with Anna, then went to the hall where they were setting up for the conference. Jon was intently discussing something with a tall man Trip recognized as Nathan Samuels, UE's Galactic Relations Minister. He spied T'Pol huddled with Hoshi over a heap of translation devices and walked over.

"Hello, ladies," he said.

Hoshi grinned up at him. "Commander. I see you got some sun."

"That I did."

T'Pol stood up straight and gave him her attention. "Was your visit with your family satisfactory?" she asked.

"It was, thank you," he said. "Have you two spent the whole time working?"

"I just got here yesterday," Hoshi said. She made a face. "Though I probably should have done it the day before. They keep adding participants. We've been reprogramming these things for hours."

"Ensign Sato has been extremely helpful," T'Pol said. "Starfleet's original translation program was problematic to say the least."

Trip smiled stiffly and looked expectantly at T'Pol.

Nerves fluttered in his stomach, though whether they were hers or his he wasn't sure. T'Pol looked over and saw that Archer was deep in discussion. "Ensign, would you please tell Captain Archer that I will see him tomorrow morning?"

"Sure," Hoshi said, looking extremely curious. "Same for you, Commander?"

"Yes," Trip said. "Thanks."

"Is everything okay?" Hoshi asked.

_Probably not,_ he thought, but instead he said, "Everything's fine." At least he was about to find out – one way or the other.

**To be continued**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimers, etc. in Chapter One

Thanks so much to the reviewers. I'm away this weekend so there may be delay in replies but please don't let that stop you!

And remember ... you will get your happy ending ... _eventually._ _(Bwa ha ha ha!)_

* * *

He followed T'Pol to her guest quarters, which had already taken on her distinctive smell. He breathed in deeply, savoring it. Maybe it was the candle wax, maybe it was the soap she used, maybe it was just her. He sat down on the desk chair and tried to force himself to focus seriously on this important conversation – one he didn't expect to go well – while his body, oblivious, was just happy to be there, inhaling eau de T'Pol. He shook his head and forced himself to focus. "So. We have some things to discuss," he said.

She sat down in the center of her bunk, posture straight, hands on her legs, a study in perpendicular angles. "It may interest you to know that we are not the only human/Vulcan pairing the priest has encountered," she said. "He knows of three others, two of which resulted in marriage."

"Oh," Trip said, pleasantly surprised. "That's good to know."

T'Pol did not relax her posture. "He suggested that such unions are plagued by certain unavoidable obstacles. He considers only one of the relationships to have been successful, and it is between a somewhat older Vulcan male and a human female. In that case, their mutual life spans and … other concerns … are better synchronized than ours would be."

"I see." He sighed. He knew he was not such a great match for her in the longevity department. "And did those couples have mating bonds too?"

"He didn't say," T'Pol said. "I believe he assumes that some kind of bond inevitably occurs in any serious Vulcan relationship. But he did tell me that he believes the phenomenon varies significantly from couple to couple."

"And he thinks it could just fade away?"

"He believes it _might _be possible, especially if both parties desire it. He said that that if we decide that is what we want to do, we should avoid all physical contact and maintain as much emotional and physical distance from the other as can safely be accomplished. He also suggested that a period of two to three years should be sufficient to determine whether this approach will be successful; that is how long it takes most Vulcans to fully recover from the death of a spouse." T'Pol surveyed the floor, still frowning. "He also said that some bonds are so strong that the loss of the spouse proves fatal. He did not think a bond that strong could ever be broken, but he also doubted that any couple with a bond that strong would ever undertake to break it."

"That sounds logical," Trip said, and sighed. In the other timeline, on that other _Enterprise_, T'Pol had survived for many years after his death. And that was after at least fourteen or more years of marriage. So apparently their bond was not as profound as all that. Which was depressing, but also a good thing, considering how much longer she was likely to live.

He said, "So he thinks we could try to let this thing die a natural death, and we'd know by the end of three years if we'd succeeded, or were never going to succeed."

She nodded.

He waved his hand in the air. "And if we discover that the thing just won't die, _then_ will you marry me?"

She blinked. "There's more."

"Okay," Trip said. "Let's hear it."

T'Pol looked down. She took a breath. She looked up at him. She hopped to her feet and went to the window, which overlooked the grounds. She said, "It is possible that within that period of time, I could enter … I could suffer from…" She stopped and started over again. "You already know that Vulcans are driven to have sex every seven years."

Trip grimaced. "No, I know they _have_ sex every seven years. The 'driven to' part is something new. What are you saying, that every seven years you go into heat or something?"

She paced back and forth in front of the window. "Essentially. It is called the _pon farr_. It causes a deeply embarrassing loss of control. It's part of the reason we are betrothed so young: so that our mates will be ready to enter the _pon farr_ with us when it is time. I am reaching the age where this becomes a possibility."

"But you don't know exactly when."

"Correct."

"So if this happens to you while we are still bonded…"

"I will require your help as my mate. The result of an unresolved _pon farr_ is almost always death."

_Death? _Trip stared at her. "Well, we wouldn't want that. So I guess this means I'd need to serve close enough to you to be available just in case." He sighed. "In which case, why not just go ahead and get married? Because if I end up helping you out with that, I'm going to be really, really annoyed if you want to start the clock over."

"I don't think there would be any point in starting the clock over, as you put it. It's very possible, however, that my _pon farr_ will never occur."

"So then we could just have plain old regular sex same as usual. I can live with that."

"You don't understand, Trip. It might not happen because you're not Vulcan. Usually it is the male's _pon farr_ that triggers the female's. For the same reason, it is unlikely we could ever have a child successfully."

"You know that's not true. The technique just hasn't quite been invented yet."

"And it may never be invented. We are not trapped in the past for 100 years with nothing else to do. But even if we could have children, should we? They would be neither Vulcan nor human. Where would we raise them, and how? What reproductive options would _they_ have?"

"Okay, I understand. It's a complicated issue. Maybe we'd decide we shouldn't have any. I'm still up for it."

"That is not the only complication."

Trip swallowed. This was going to be it, whatever it was. He could tell by the way her fear was spiking to new levels. "T'Pol, nothing you tell me is going to change the way I feel."

She turned back to the window. She stiffened, her fists held at her sides. "In the Expanse, after my exposure on the Seleya, I began to inject Trellium-D into my bloodstream on a regular basis over a period of several months. This addiction caused permanent damage to my synaptic pathways, resulting in a significant loss of emotional control."

Trip sat there, trying to make sense of what she'd said. Finally, he said, "Huh?"

She left the window and went to the bunk, where she sat down stiffly. "I was addicted to the Trellium-D until after Azati Prime, when I sought treatment from Dr. Phlox." She swallowed and finally looked at him directly. "The Trellium-D allowed me to feel emotions in a way I'd never experienced before, and I did not think the small amounts I was using would harm me. But when my supply was cut off, I realized that it was in fact a dangerous addiction that was affecting my performance and damaging my control."

He squinted, remembering back. Her behavior had sometimes been strange and even alarming in the Expanse, he remembered that. "You _injected_ a substance that had nearly killed you into your bloodstream, and you didn't think it would do you any harm?"

She nodded, her face pale, her eyes on him. He calculated. "So when we…?"

Oh.

_Oh._

"So without that drug messing you up, you never would have…." He blinked and forced himself to breathe. It felt as his chest was being squeezed by a giant cold hand.

No, of course not. She never would have dropped that robe in a million years.

Her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Trip, I have you always found you compelling. I had long considered you a friend. I suspect I would have experienced some irrational jealousy about your relationship with Corporal Cole even without the Trellium-D. But I never would have considered attempting an intimate relationship with you. I would have understood very well that there was no logic in it."

He got up to the window and stared out of it with unseeing eyes. "So this whole thing is really just a big, Trellium-D-induced screw-up."

"I was inexcusably weak," she said. "I am sorry."

He sighed, suddenly exhausted. "You got high on emotion," he said, trying to understand. "I'm honestly surprised you found that so appealing."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "Vulcan mental discipline keeps the world and everyone in it at a rational, analytical distance. This allows logic to maintain control over the inherent pleasures of belonging to a group, or indulging one's curiosity, or feeling affection and desire. With that customary distance stripped away, life seemed much more vivid, much more immediate. The pleasures were greatly intensified. The negative emotions were, too – but they carried with them a level of excitement and stimulation I had never experienced before. For the first time I felt as if I truly understood my shipmates. For the first time I felt truly part of the crew."

He listened, trying to understand.

"And it was a great pleasure simply being able to touch you, during our neuro-pressure sessions. I began to crave those times together. I felt that I was seeing a side of you I'd never seen before. Then you were injured." She stopped and looked at him. "Watching Sim was like watching you come back from the dead and live out the essence of your being in just a few short days. You are such a beautiful man, Trip. In the state I was in then, I could not help but fall in love with you."

He frowned, deeply touched by her admission but also very confused. For one thing, he was still jealous of Sim, even if Sim was technically him. He could never help feeling that Sim had somehow been a nicer guy than he was. "But now?" he said.

"My feelings for you haven't changed," she said. "And my emotional control has been permanently impaired. But I have regained a great deal of my logic and discipline. I cannot ignore inconvenient truths. I don't believe that a marriage between us has much chance of success. I doubt that our sincere mutual affection will be enough to compensate for the many sacrifices involved, from both of us." She swallowed. "However, I recognize that this bond places an unfair burden on you. It is entirely my fault that you are in this situation. So if you still wish it, knowing what you know now, then I will marry you."

Trip stood there, watching her, feeling bewildered. How had she managed to say no and yes at the same time? How could she break his heart in a brand new way and profess her love for him in the space of ten minutes? It was too much to take in. "I think I need some time to think about all this," he said.

She nodded. "Of course."

Trip nodded dazedly at her. He walked out and took the first exit to the outdoors he could find. He needed air.

* * *

He headed toward the water instinctively, taking the path down to Crissy Field, trudging across the sand to where the waves were washing in. The wind was cold, but the sun was bright, and the beach was busy with families dressed in typical San Francisco layers. He walked fast on the wet sand, trying to warm up.

He knew he should be thinking rationally about everything T'Pol had told him, but it was as if his brain simply refused to focus on the problem at hand. He watched his feet, he looked across the water, he breathed in and out, he wondered how he was supposed to get through the night. He wished he had an engine to fix, a technical problem of any kind. Maybe he should take a shuttle up to _Enterprise._ Of course he'd have to take another one right down the next morning for the damned conference.

Scenes began to play in his mind: Neuro-pressure sessions with T'Pol. The lowered lighting, those candles, that smell. Those silk pajamas. The uncustomary softness of her voice. Her near-hysteria when Archer went missing at Azati Prime. The maddening mixed signals she'd given him ever since their first sexual encounter. Eventually he got the end of the beach and turned around. Changing direction took the cold wind out of his face and he sighed, relaxing a bit.

At least she'd said she loved him. That was something.

His communicator buzzed. "Tucker," he said.

Archer's voice was nearly carried away by the wind. "Trip! I heard you're in town."

"Yes sir. I stopped by the hall earlier, but you were busy."

"Yeah, I know. There's an opening reception for the delegates tonight at the Officer's Club. I'm trying to round up as many people as I can for that. We want to make sure all the delegates feel welcome."

Trip scowled. "I'm not sure I'd be very good company tonight, sir."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing I can explain right now."

"It would mean a lot to me, Trip. Malcolm is making it, and Hoshi and T'Pol. But Hoshi's the only one I trust to really schmooze anybody. We need your Southern charm. You know how important this coalition could be to us."

Trip sighed. "In uniform?"

"Of course. It starts at seven. See you then."

* * *

Trip walked into an Officer's Club that was all tricked out for a festive opening reception and knew without looking that she was there. Yes, over there, talking to Soval, looking very serious. She glanced his way, then turned back to her conversation.

He stood up straighter, took a deep breath, and picked out a clump of delegates to introduce himself to. Might as well get to work.

Half an hour later he was discussing local venues for rhythm and blues with a cluster of Andorian diplomats when Captain Archer came up and clapped him on the back. "Glad you could make it, Trip. Think I could grab you for a moment?"

Trip walked away with him. "What's up, Cap'n?"

Archer leaned in and lowered his voice. "There's been a bomb threat called in. We don't think it's legitimate, we suspect it's just an attempt to disrupt the proceedings, but we can't be one hundred percent sure. Samuels is about to announce a surprise moonlight cruise of the bay. We need to escort the delegates down to the Presidio dock as quickly as possible."

"These people aren't dressed for going out on the water, Cap'n," Trip said. "How long do we have?"

"Forty-five minutes. Plenty of time. And it's an enclosed boat. I know, Trip, it's not the ideal situation. But we really don't want to have to start this conference with a bomb scare."

Trip frowned. "Starting it off by _hiding_ a bomb scare might be even worse."

Archer clearly wasn't interested in a debate. "You're in charge of the Andorians. T'Pol has the Vulcans. I've got the Tellarites. Hoshi has the Rigelians, Malcolm the Coridanites. Let's just get it done, okay?"

* * *

An hour later, Trip was pacing the deserted lower deck of a spacious tour boat, surreptitiously scanning for any approaching vessels. No bomb had exploded back at the Officer's Club, but a suspiciously-timed demonstration had erupted just outside Starfleet grounds, near the hotel where most of the delegates were staying. The delegates, of course, were on the boat, eating and listening to music, but they had friends and family, they had consulate staff and intelligence officers. They would hear the news soon enough, if they hadn't already.

He knew without looking when she came in behind him. He turned and smiled a weary greeting at her. "Anyone seasick yet?"

"Thankfully not," T'Pol said. "Many of the delegates are not used to the sensation of being at sea."

"This is actually just a bay," he said. "And there's not much of a swell tonight. I haven't seen anything that looks like a potential threat."

"The captain wanted me to tell you that Starfleet has set up a security perimeter. You're free to rejoin the festivities."

"Lucky me." He looked out at the wall of windows that faced the bow. Their yellowed reflections looked back at him. She'd left a good three meters between them. It looked further away than it felt.

"Can I ask you a question?" he said.

"Of course."

"If you took away any feeling of obligation or responsibility toward me for what's happened, if you purely considered your own preferences, would you want to marry me?"

"It's not that I find the idea unappealing. I just can't see it working."

"What if I we weren't in a rush about it? What if we agreed to spend another year or two on _Enterprise,_ keep this low-key, explore our options?"

"Do you truly wish to do that, with the knowledge that I may never consider marriage a viable option? Would you not resent being left 'on the hook,' as you put it? "

"I'm on the hook anyway, aren't I, with this _pon farr_ thing floating out there?"

She looked down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. "I believe the chance of that actually occurring is rather small."

Trip sighed. "Okay then. Suppose we do call it off. We've done that before. What if I keep popping into your white space? It's not like I have any control over that. Wouldn't that mess up the whole attempt?"

"The priest taught me some techniques I can use in my meditation that should help. He said that those involuntary encounters are a symptom of ambivalence and unfinished business."

"T'Pol, there's no way I could ever walk away from you without feeling ambivalent."

"I was referring to my own ambivalence. I am the source of those … intrusions. I believe I can prevent that from becoming an ongoing problem."

"And that's what you'd honestly prefer to do."

She nodded.

Trip turned away from her and leaned forward until his forehead was against the cool plexiglass of the window. It intensified the low thrum of the tour boat's engine, the slight bounce as the bow cut across the waves. "Well," he said. "I have no desire to force you into a marriage you think is doomed to fail. So I guess we'd better just call it a day."

The surge of grief from her surprised him. He turned around, ready to accuse her of being full of shit, but the open distress on her face made him tone it down. "You don't want this anymore than I do," he said.

"I never said this would be easy – for either of us. But I do believe it is for the best."

Her damned logic again. He was suddenly quite certain that she was wrong, that this was never going to work, and all it would mean was three years of needless suffering on both their parts. But he was damned if he was going to try to drag her into something this important. "Fine." He sighed. "Three years. Solar years, right? So I guess we'll shake hands on January 18, 2158, and see if anything happens. And in the meantime, no touching? What else did he say? As much distance as we can safely manage?"

She nodded miserably and backed up a step, her eyes fixed on him. He was reminded of the day she'd married Koss. Just as he had that day, he wondered if perhaps he shouldn't just pick her up and carry her off over his shoulder, and never mind what she claimed she wanted.

Of course, that wouldn't work on a boat in the middle of San Francisco Bay any better than it would have worked at T'Pol's mother's house on Vulcan. Funny how there was a crowd of aliens he was required to play nice with in both situations.

"Well, Commander," he said. "I'm sure you're needed upstairs. I think I'll stay down here awhile longer. I'm not exactly in the mood to socialize right now."

She turned and left.

He sat down on the carpeted deck, suddenly exhausted.

It was over. Again. Just as he'd expected.

Now if he could just get his heart to believe it.

**To be continued**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimers, etc. in Chapter 1

Author's Note: This chapter contains spoilers for "Demons" and "Terra Prime." And if you've seen those, you'll know better than to expect a break in the angst here. (Just hang on, folks. Tragedies can have unexpected results.)

P.S. Reviews? You can yell at me, I don't mind. Any feedback at all is greatly appreciated.

* * *

"It's not about who gets credit," Hoshi said the next day, after Samuels' opening speech.

Trip still couldn't believe Jon had actually ordered him to clap louder. "He could've at least mentioned _Enterprise_," he said. "Who does he think got the Andorians and Tellarites talking?"

"I'm sure history will reflect our contribution," T'Pol said, using what Trip thought of as her patented "calm Trip down" tone.

"Not if he's writing it," he muttered. He was in no mood to be calmed down by anybody, least of all her.

"That's enough," Archer said. He headed down the stairs, and they followed. At least they wouldn't have to stand there on the steps like posed action figures any longer. Samuels came up and proceeded to make love to them all. Trip tried not to let his disgust show.

Malcolm tugged on his sleeve and led him away a distance. "What's the matter with you?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't seen you this cranky in a long time."

"I'm just tired, okay? Don't tell me you enjoyed all that nonsense last night?"

"Well, it was more interesting than a plain old reception would have been, you must admit." Malcolm canted his head over and gave him a speculative look. "Hoshi told me you and T'Pol went off together yesterday afternoon. Was it not as much fun as you'd hoped?"

Trip sighed. "Let's just say our on-again-off-again relationship is officially off again – for three years, or forever. Whichever comes first."

"I'm sorry." Malcolm said. "I'm also … confused."

"I know. It's a long story."

"Tell me later, over a drink?"

"That sounds good." He snorted. Maybe he could get T'Pol drunk. "What the hell?" He turned, his attention drawn by T'Pol's consternation at being grasped by a strange woman.

Who promptly collapsed.

Malcolm ran to help. Trip heard him say "phase pistol wound" and called emergency services even as he headed for the door. Maybe whoever had shot the woman was still around.

Out in the courtyard, people passed at a normal pace. Nobody looked particularly suspicious.

He went back inside. T'Pol was staring into a glass vial.

"What is it?" he said.

"Hair," she said. She seemed transfixed.

Trip felt a chill.

* * *

Phlox was clearly uncomfortable. "According to every analysis, this child is the offspring of Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol."

Trip, reeling in disbelief, turned back to where T'Pol stood, looking somehow less surprised than he felt she ought to.

"Commanders?" Archer said.

"Don't ask me!" Trip said.

T'Pol turned calmly to the captain. "I can't explain the existence of this child."

"But you and Trip_…_" Archer said, even as Malcolm said, "Then how is this possible?"

Phlox said, "The child could have been cloned, though such procedures are banned on Earth. Or it could have simply been created in vitro, using genetic material from both Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol … again, this would have been approximately six months ago, though I suppose it is also possible the embryo could have been frozen for some time before gestation occurred."

T'Pol said, "While Commander Tucker's sperm may have been obtained fairly easily, a mature Vulcan egg is not so easily come by."

"What are you implying?" Trip said hotly.

"And then there is the matter of Vulcan and Human incompatibility," T'Pol added.

No kidding. He glared at her.

"But we already know that can be overcome," Archer said. "We've met a child of yours before. Could this be the result of a temporal anomaly? A child from that other Enterprise somehow brought forward to this time?"

They all stopped and stared at him for a moment, nonplussed.

"Wherever it came from, why us?" Trip said. "Why _our _child?"

"Any child of yours would be a hybrid," Malcolm said. "Half Vulcan, half Human. That may be key."

Archer turned to Trip. "Are you absolutely certain this wasn't anything you were aware of? That perhaps you wanted? One of you, if not both of you? It would be understandable." He turned to T'Pol.

It burst out of Trip: "Captain, we can't even figure out how the hell to stay together for more than a few days at a time. We're hardly going to try to make a baby!"

The look T'Pol gave him could have frozen a pack of Andorian ice worms in their tracks.

"T'Pol?" Archer said. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask."

"Commander Tucker is correct," she said. "There would have been no logic in it."

Malcolm sighed. "You two may not have figured out how to pull this off, but the whole ship has considered you a couple for a long time now. So if somebody thought…"

"What, that they'd do us a favor by creating a baby and not telling us?" Trip said, exasperated.

"She said they were going to kill it," T'Pol said. "I believe her. For whatever reason it was created, this child is in danger."

* * *

"We've got to talk about this," Trip said. He walked into her quarters and sat on her bunk.

She rose from meditation and took a seat as far from him as possible. "It's difficult to talk about something that doesn't make sense."

"Phlox said DNA doesn't lie."

"Neither do I. I've never been pregnant, Trip."

But T'pol had lied by omission. He knew that for a fact. And they'd had sex a number of times before her marriage, without taking precautions, because they'd assumed pregnancy was impossible. She'd even taken him home to meet her mother. What if, on Vulcan, she'd had a fetus removed? That would be just like her, to quietly take care of the problem without saying a word. "Then how do you explain all this?"

"I can't." She sounded frustrated. "Do you believe me?"

No, but he also couldn't bring himself to accuse her to her face. "Yeah. Phlox must be wrong, that's all there is to it. If you've never been pregnant, then you can't have a baby."

She sat down right in front of him. "Trip, the moment Phlox said that the child was ours, I knew it was true."

"But you said you'd never been…"

"I haven't. "

"Then what are you saying?"

"I can't explain how it exists, but I know it does. There's a child out there, and it's ours."

"How do you know that?" he demanded.

"I'm Vulcan."

He scowled. "What does that mean? That you accept DNA evidence at face value?"

"I can sense the child's existence. I have been sensing it for some time; I just didn't realize what it was."

He stared at her. He hadn't sensed anything that even hinted at an infant presence. All he ever sensed was her.

"We have to find it," T'Pol said. "Quickly."

He nodded. "Well at least there's something we agree on. Samuels is on his way up. They must have more information."

T'Pol suddenly seemed to realize how physically close she'd gotten to him. She got up and walked to the window.

He watched her bleakly. "When we find the baby, what then? We can't raise a baby on a starship."

She stared out the window. "I know."

"I hope you don't you think I'm going to let you take off with my kid and leave me out of it."

She turned around and faced him. "I wouldn't do that."

"Good," he said brusquely, relieved that she hadn't tried to argue it. He stood up, painfully aware of the physical and emotional distance between them. "Well, as long as that's settled, I'd better let you get back to your meditation. I'm going to talk to Malcolm, see what we can do."

* * *

Malcolm, it turned out, wasn't on board.

"He just went down to the surface," Hoshi said.

"Samuels still here?" Trip asked.

"No, he just left too."

"The captain?" Trip said, pointing at his ready room.

"He's talking to Admiral Gardner."

Trip shook his head in frustration. Presumably they were all doing something to look for his child, but he – the father – the guy who was _really_ supposed to be protecting it – had no idea where to start.

But he knew someone else who might be able to answer a few questions for him.

* * *

A girl. A healthy blue-eyed baby girl with tiny pointed ears.

Trip shook his head as he leaned on a biobed in sickbay, amazed that his life could have been so thoroughly redefined so quickly.

Phlox had taken some pains to assure him T'Pol had never been pregnant. Trip supposed he was going to have to accept that, though he could just imagine T'Pol deciding it was something he didn't need to know. But it was true she had finally told him her other secrets. Maybe she wouldn't have held this back either.

"She told me about the Trellium-D," he said. "She said she hasn't used any since Azati Prime." He raised his eyebrows, leaving this question for the doctor unspoken.

Phlox smiled stiffly. "Commander T'Pol is still subject to random testing from me, so I can confirm that. I'm sure your continuing support can only help."

"I don't know how much support I can give," Trip said. "She wants to try to let this bond fade away, which means I'm supposed to keep my distance."

"Perhaps that could change, now that you have a child together?"

Trip's throat tightened. He didn't dare let himself dwell on that particular hope, even if it had immediately – insidiously – taken root in his heart.

* * *

Trip walked into the captain's ready room and found Malcolm already there. "Do you have news?"

"Samuels agreed to share the case file. It should be arriving any minute," Archer said.

"Good," Trip said grimly.

Archer gave Malcolm a look, and Malcolm coughed. "I'll be at my station," he said.

"I'll let you know as soon as it arrives," Archer said in parting. He turned back to Trip. "How are you holding up?"

Trip frowned. "Well, let's see, all of a sudden I'm a daddy, but I've never even met my kid, who's probably in mortal danger, and all I can do right now is wait around."

"It's frustrating for all of us, Trip, but I'm sure we'll make progress soon. Anything else going on I should know about?"

"Like what?"

"You two didn't exactly look like you were playing on the same team in sickbay."

Trip slumped down in the chair. "T'Pol wants us to try to go our separate ways. But not too separate, because we've got this weird Vulcan bond-thing." He folded his arms. "Three years. That's how long it takes to break up with a Vulcan. Except we can't be sure it will even work until we've tried it. I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?"

Archer looked confused. "Having a child together wouldn't make a difference?"

Trip sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. But in any case we'd have to find her first, wouldn't we?" He jumped up and started pacing in the small space.

"Her?" Archer said. "It's a girl?"

"That's what Phlox said. My eyes, T'Pol's ears."

Archer smiled. "She'll be a heartbreaker." He gave Trip an appraising look. "Are you going to be okay working together on this, or should I take you two off it? Technically, I should. You're both too close to it."

"You can't do this without us," Trip said. "We're the best you've got."

"I know. But this time you have a lot more at stake. I'm not sure you even realize how much, yet."

"I can't speak for T'Pol, but I can do this. Please, Cap'n. I _need_ to do this."

Archer sighed and looked even grimmer. "I know."

* * *

Great. Now he not only needed to save his daughter, he had to save T'Pol, himself, the city of San Francisco, Starfleet, Utopia Colony and possibly _Enterprise_ as well.

Which meant that what he needed to do was destroy Paxton's ability to fire the Verteron Array. That was the only thing that would prevent Starfleet from blowing them off the planet before Paxton's deadline. But the result of that would be pretty obvious, and he couldn't count on Paxton's guys being unable to get it back in operation – though if they were really that sharp he figured they would have been doing this themselves rather than relying on him.

So for insurance, Trip recalibrated the aiming mechanism. The tiny degree of error that would throw it a few kilometers to the northwest shouldn't be too noticeable to Paxton's goons and should, at least in theory, save Starfleet and environs; he just hoped he wouldn't end up destroying the Golden Gate Bridge in the process, because he was a little fuzzy about just how far out it went. He also needed to narrow the beam, which he proceeded to do, though it irked him that this was exactly what Paxton wanted.

Then came the part that would be far too easy for even a novice to notice: disabling the whole mechanism. For that, he needed a distraction.

He sneaked a look at Josiah. Bigger, taller, self-righteous, and armed. Damn.

On the other hand, he'd know they considered their hostages valuable if he survived the next twenty minutes without too much damage.

He just hoped that pistol to the back of T'Pol's head had been a bluff.

Well, he was just going to have to take that chance. If he didn't manage to knock that array out, he was pretty sure they'd all end up dead anyway.

* * *

"Hold still!" Phlox demanded. He was trying to examine Trip's shoulder. Trip kept twisting to look at his daughter, who was being walked back and forth across sickbay by T'Pol. Apparently that little jiggle parents used to calm a child was a constant across the galaxy. Not that the baby seemed frightened. She was unnervingly calm for a six-month-old, staring placidly at the new world of sickbay, tracking lights and people with interest.

Maybe that jiggle was actually for the benefit of her mother. T'Pol looked profoundly tense, although Trip couldn't feel a thing coming from her, just a big blank wall.

"Shouldn't you be taking care of the baby?" Trip complained to the doctor.

"I already looked at her. She's suffering a low grade fever, but nothing we can't handle. You, on the other hand, have somehow managed to obtain a hairline fracture of the scapula."

That explained why supporting Archer when he collapsed had made him want to scream. When T'Pol had put the baby in his arms he hadn't trusted himself to hold her for long. "T'Pol said her white blood cell count was high."

"Yes, it is, but again I don't see any particular cause for alarm. Of course, the sooner you let me finish here, the sooner I can get back to your daughter."

Trip immediately stilled.

"That's better," Phlox said. "We're going to have to immobilize the arm for a few days. Here." He helped Trip get into a sling. "No lifting, Commander. No exertion. The fracture will heal fully within a few days, then we'll start physical therapy. See me for more pain medication as needed."

"No worries there," Trip said. He was already immensely grateful for that first hypospray.

"Okay then," Phlox said. "Let's do a complete scan of this little one. And then, hopefully, it will simply be a matter of treating her symptoms."

T'Pol's voice was tight. "I told you what Paxton said."

"Paxton is not a doctor, is he, hmm?" Phlox said, taking the baby and laying her in a temporary cradle on the scanning bed. "She's made it this far. You're quite a good-natured little one, aren't you? Just like your father was at your age."

Trip stared in confusion at Phlox until he realized he must be talking about Sim. He exchanged a glance with T'Pol, but they both immediately turned back to the scanning table as it slid inside with their girl.

"If he thought she was doomed, why worry so much about the species mixing?" Trip muttered.

"I suspect he may have been more concerned about alien alliances than alien-human hybrids," T'Pol said. "I believe his primary goal was to prevent the coalition of planets from forming. He may have seen the child as a convenient tool to mobilize public sentiment."

"Right," Trip said. "An adorable little baby. The whole planet must have just peed their pants in terror when they saw her."

T'Pol blinked in confusion. Trip shrugged apologetically – only to hiss in pain as he realized that shrugging was a very bad idea.

Phlox's head was tilted back, reading scans as they were taken.

T'Pol was looking up at them too. "Her oxygen count is too low," T'Pol said.

"Yes," Phlox said, finally sounding a touch concerned. "We'll put her in an oxygen chamber. That should help." The table slid out and T'Pol immediately scooped the baby up possessively.

"What's the matter with her?" Trip said.

"I need more time to study those scans," Phlox said. "Remember, Commander, she's made it this far, and that was in enemy hands. Here, she has a whole ship full of people rooting for her." He disappeared into one of his storage bays for a moment and returned wheeling a small contained chamber.

Trip couldn't help feeling that Phlox's reassurance suddenly seemed a little forced. He looked at T'Pol, who had the baby grasped tightly in her arms, her head dipped against the child's head, her nose against the fine blonde hair.

"We'd better get her in," Phlox said to T'Pol.

She didn't move. "T'Pol?" Trip said. "Baby needs the oxygen."

Her hold on the baby tightened. Trip hesitated, unsure what to do; T'Pol suddenly didn't seem entirely rational. The baby seemed to sense a change too, and began to whimper slightly.

He approached slowly, carefully. "T'Pol?"

He watched her close her eyes and take a deep breath. Then her face returned to something he recognized. She held the baby out to him. He ran his hand over the infant's fine wispy hair and leaned down and inhaled, as he'd seen her mother do. Such a sweet smell. The child's whimpers ceased and she gazed back at him with her calm blue eyes. Trip said softly, "We're going to put you in the big box now, sweetheart, so you can breathe a little better." He turned to Phlox, since he couldn't safely take the baby himself with only one arm.

After another moment's hesitation, T'Pol gave the baby up to Phlox, who gently placed her in the chamber and closed it up. "There you go," he said. He checked her readings and smiled tightly. "I want to spend some time with those scans. Don't _worry_. I'm very hopeful that whatever this is can be treated."

Trip smiled reassuringly at T'Pol, who was back to her usual calm inscrutability, then turned to watch the baby, who stared back at them both. He tapped the plexiglass, enchanted as her eyes followed his fingers. "My daddy always wanted a granddaughter," he said.

T'Pol looked solemnly at him and turned back to the baby. They watched her and she watched them.

"Do Vulcan babies have interesting things hanging in their cribs?" he asked. "Human babies usually do. Mobiles for them to watch as they lie there. I think they're supposed to help babies build visual tracking skills and stuff like that, or maybe just keep them from getting bored. I don't know. Maybe we could get something like that for her."

T'Pol lifted her eyebrow, then pulled a chain out from under her uniform. She removed it from around her neck and hung it on the oxygen chamber. Trip was surprised to see her wearing a piece of jewelry. As baby entertainment it seemed a little underwhelming, but he supposed it would do for now; at any rate, it wasn't as if this child seemed restless or bored. She really was remarkably calm.

"I guess we shouldn't keep calling her _she_," he said.

"Elizabeth," T'Pol said.

He looked at her in wonder. She had taken his breath away. "My sister would've liked that."

* * *

It was an obscenity. A delicious little baby girl was not supposed to have to struggle for breath and turn blue. A beautiful little baby girl was not supposed to develop a death-rattle as she lay in front of two perfectly healthy parents who knew how to do so much, yet couldn't save her.

And parents were not supposed to have to watch in appalled disbelief as the warm, glowing little being they had only just met gave up her last breath mere hours later. There she lay, an inert object in the shape of a dream he and T'Pol had never even dared to share with each other.

Until there she was, their beautiful daughter.

And then there she wasn't.

Trip couldn't believe this nightmare was really happening. It was all he could do to just stand there calmly and not start screaming his fury and indignation at Paxton for his cold calculations and at the universe for being so cruel and at his grandmother's God for not saving this child and at Phlox for being so wrong and even at T'Pol for just standing there, not quite touching him as she had not quite touched him throughout their vigil, coping with her own grief in her self-contained Vulcan way, behind her blank wall.

And surely, surely as lost to him forever as this baby was.

For in a universe that had allowed _this_ to happen, Trip could not believe that anything would ever work out in his favor ever again.

**To be continued**


	6. Conclusion

****

Disclaimers, etc. in Chapter One

Here's the happier ending I promised!

(And thanks so much, reviewers. The time you take to leave a note means a great deal to me.)

* * *

His door chimed.

"Come in," Trip said. He'd sat on his bunk for he didn't know how long and sobbed until there were no more tears left. Now he felt wrung out, empty.

Archer looked solemn. "How are you doing?"

Trip once again forgot not to shrug, but he didn't really mind the pain of it. It was, perversely, a kind of relief from the other, more profound pain. "About the way you'd expect, I guess."

"I can't imagine what you must be going through."

Trip sighed. "It's definitely a screwed-up situation."

Archer swallowed and looked down at the deck for a moment. "I'm here because Samuels says he's gotten the delegates to change their minds about postponing the conference. He wants senior staff there again tomorrow when it resumes. In fact, he wants _me _to give a speech."

It occurred to Trip that Archer was waiting for a reaction from him. "I guess that's good news."

"You and T'Pol are both entitled to bereavement leave and I think you should take it, but I wanted to let you know. I thought perhaps you'd be pleased to know that Paxton's plan didn't work. It didn't stop this. I'm sure it's still going to take a lot of work, but at least we've still got a fighting chance at getting this coalition off the ground."

Trip nodded. He supposed there was some satisfaction in that.

Archer said, "Do you think … do you think I should let T'Pol know, or would it be better to leave her alone right now?"

Trip took a shuddering breath. "Your guess is as good as mine on that one."

"I'm so sorry, Trip." Archer put a hand on his good shoulder.

Trip just nodded, trying not to start crying again.

"If for any reason you _want_ to be there, it starts at 0900," Archer said. "We'll be shuttling down at 0830. But you do what you need to do for yourself. Maybe you'd like to go stay with your parents for awhile?"

"They're going to be at the memorial service," Trip said. "And I plan to spend some time with them after that. Right now … right now I think I'm still just trying to wrap my head around what just happened. It's a lot to take in."

"I know," Archer said. "If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."

Trip nodded. He'd heard that from a lot of his crewmates already. But of course the only thing they could do that would _really _help was not something anyone could do.

Nobody could give him his little girl back.

* * *

Trip was surprised to see T'Pol gathered with the others outside the shuttle bay the next morning. She looked pale, and that emotional wall was up just as thoroughly as it had been since they'd brought Elizabeth home, but she was apparently determined to continue performing her duties.

For his part, Trip had decided he needed to put his back against some work – plus he thought of it as spitting in Paxton's eye. He hoped the bastard got to watch the whole thing from his cell. Trip was also pretty sure he'd completely cried himself out over the last twelve hours, so hopefully he wouldn't have to worry about embarrassing himself in public.

His first instinct had actually been to go to engineering and do something useful, but he didn't want to face his staff's sympathy, and he knew he shouldn't get involved with any delicate equipment in the state he was in. And he sure as hell didn't want to do paperwork. So he'd do the upstanding Starfleet officer routine and stand there. How hard could that be?

His colleagues patted him and asked him how he was, and he nodded and said he was fine and picked a seat as far back as he could get. T'Pol sat down at his side. Apparently Elizabeth was still buying him a temporary reprieve from the distant-for-three-years rule. "How are you holding up?" he asked softly.

"I suspect it will be some time before I regain any sense of equanimity."

"Well," he said, falling into the exact same banality everyone had been offering him, "If I can help in any way, let me know."

She looked at him, and he wished that he dared slip his hand into hers. But they definitely weren't supposed to touch, were they?

Shit, he was going to start crying again. He focused fiercely on the deck, blinking. He must not fall apart. Not here. Not now.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her straighten in her seat, and somehow knew she was thinking the same thing.

* * *

The next morning, Trip walked into her quarters and said, "The delegates at the conference, they've asked about the service for…." He struggled against tears. "… For Elizabeth. They want to attend."

T'pol was sitting hunched over at the end of her bunk, wrapped in layers of Vulcan robes. "She was important," she said softly.

He sat down next to her. "There's something else. I spoke with Phlox. It turns out there was a flaw in the technique that Paxton's doctors used in the cloning process. Human DNA and Vulcan DNA, Phlox says there's no medical reason why they can't combine." He took a fortifying breath. He knew that the last thing T'Pol needed was for him to sit here and cry, and he knew that any hope he still carried that they might yet form a family someday was ridiculous, but he also wanted this on the record, damn it. "So if a Vulcan and a human ever decided to have a child, it'd probably be okay. And that's sort of comforting."

Their hands clasped; he couldn't even say for certain who had initiated it, but he knew her hand wouldn't be in his if she hadn't done something to put it there. Trip felt her love and compassion and shared grief wash over him like a soothing balm, and just hoped she was getting something back. He said, "I wish we could have been a family, T'Pol. It felt like a dream come true for a little while there." He blinked rapidly, trying not to completely lose it. "I know you would have been a wonderful mom."

"I am certain you would have been a satisfactory father as well."

He swallowed. "Thank you. That means a lot to me." He took a deep breath and they sat there, hand in hand. He said, "You're ready for the service?"

She nodded.

"My family is going to be there, so I guess you'll finally get to meet them. I'm just sorry it's under circumstances like these."

He expected her to pull away from him, then, to reassert her distance, but she didn't. She asked, "Do they know how Elizabeth came to be?"

"Yeah, they know." He scowled. "The whole planet knows. It's a big story. Jon said they've had to put a lot of extra security in for the service."

She stared at the floor for a few moments, then asked, "Do they know about us?"

"Well…Mom and Dad have figured out that I'm hopelessly in love with you, if that's what you mean. Nobody else that I know of. I doubt my parents would have blabbed it."

He could feel her tension rising.

"Don't worry. They're very polite. Nobody's going to start screaming at you about your bad taste in turning me down. I imagine they're mostly going to be trying to figure out how to feel about this grandchild they never knew they had." He bit his lip, trying not to get weepy again. "I need to go stop by my quarters," he said. He squeezed her hand and let it go. "I'll see you at the shuttle, okay?"

T'Pol nodded.

* * *

The hall was packed. Elizabeth's tiny coffin sat between the two aisles at the front, draped with both the colors of United Earth and of Vulcan. Trip and T'Pol sat in the left front row together with other _Enterprise _crew, while the rows immediately behind them held Tucker relatives, to whom T'Pol had been somewhat awkwardly introduced. Samuels was sitting on the right front row, along with Soval and Admiral Gardner and various other dignitaries and delegates.

Archer gripped the two sides of the podium like a life raft and gave Trip a look that he interpreted as _I'm really sorry for your loss, and I really hope you won't hate me for this eulogy. _He cleared his throat, and began:

_"We first discovered that Elizabeth Tucker existed five days ago. Three days ago, her parents brought her home to Enterprise, after Paxton and his Terra Prime sympathizers were defeated. Then they watched helplessly as their little girl, who had been created using flawed techniques by Terra Prime's physicians, grew ill and died._

_"In total, they knew their daughter for less than thirty-six hours. I can't even begin to imagine how they must feel._

_"Paxton hoped that creating a Vulcan-Human hybrid would galvanize public opinion on earth against cooperation with our allies from other worlds. It's hard to believe he could really imagine that such a sweet little baby could strike terror into human hearts, and indeed there has been a great outpouring of support and sympathy for little Elizabeth Tucker and her family._

_"I'd like to think that as we go forward from this day, we can take as an example her parents, Commander T'Pol of Vulcan and Commander Charles Tucker III of Florida. T'Pol, my first officer and science officer, keeps a typically Vulcan lid on her emotions. Trip, as my chief engineer is known, is not famous for his emotional reserve. I'll admit that it took a little while, but these two ultimately became good friends, in addition to being the best two senior officers a captain could wish for. In a crisis, I've seen them work miracles together. I only wish they could have received a miracle for their daughter._

_"They named her after Trip's sister Elizabeth, who was lost in the Xindi attack. To the whole Tucker family, who has lost so much, I can only offer my heartfelt sympathy. And to T'Pol, who lost her mother just this year, who I know is feeling the bitter pangs of losing her own child even if she doesn't express it in the same way humans do – I wish peace._

_"For little Elizabeth, I hope we can create something hopeful from this tragedy. We must strike back against hatred and fear and intolerance. In the name of this beautiful lost child, let us move ahead toward a more peaceful, cooperative, mutually-beneficial future that includes not only all of us here on Earth, but our friends across the galaxy. Let that be her fitting memorial. Thank you."_

Trip sat there, numb. Not a bad eulogy, he thought, with a distant, analytical part of his mind. Depend on Jon to turn it into a rallying cry for intergalactic cooperation, but whatever. Next to him, T'Pol seemed to be staring unseeingly ahead.

An elderly Vulcan priest slowly came forward and stood in front of them both. He lifted an intrigued eyebrow as he gazed at Trip. Trip stared back at him. Then the priest stooped down in front of T'Pol and softly said something in Vulcan that Trip did not understand.

T'Pol's eyes widened.

The priest reached his hands out, placing one on the coffin and the other on the side of T'Pol's face. Trip watched, both curious and concerned, and had to resist his own instinct to draw back when, after a moment's hesitation, she turned to him and raised her other hand to his face. With her touch, it was as if a circuit had been connected, and he felt as if he'd been pitched into a yawning black emptiness that somehow reached out to the whole universe and utterly overtook the room in which they were sitting.

The priest began to croon something in Vulcan, but Trip understood it anyway:

_She is no longer here, thy little one.  
She hast blown away in the wind.  
Her katra belongs to sky and the stars.  
Her katra belongs to the dust and the stones.  
Her katra belongs to all the ages gone.  
She is indeed lost to thee.  
There is no greater loss than this.  
I grieve with thee.  
All present grieve with thee._

And it was as if they did. He felt T'Pol's grief and the priest's gentle concern and a whole roomful of people's sympathy – mixed with curiosity – for just a moment, before T'Pol's hand dropped. Trip blinked, dumped back into the bright, full hall from that strange darkness.

The priest was staring at him again. He gave him an uncertain smile back. The old Vulcan's bald recitation had somehow soothed him more than any other words of comfort he'd heard so far, perhaps because he hadn't attempted comfort at all.

Trip looked at T'Pol, wanting an explanation.

She said nothing, but she took his hand, and to Trip's great surprise she held on to it throughout the remainder of the ceremony, even as they followed Elizabeth's coffin out.

* * *

Elizabeth was buried in a plot on the Starfleet grounds. The Tuckers had been cremating their dead for generations, but Vulcans either buried or entombed theirs, which probably made sense for people living on a planet with lots of land and very little wood. He had been a little surprised that T'Pol preferred to bury Elizabeth on Earth, but she seemed to feel it was more important to have a timely burial than a traditional one.

There was a chill breeze blowing in off the water and the burial itself was a spare business: apparently Vulcans just got the job done – literally taking up shovels in the process – then sat in silent meditation for awhile, and moved on. The Starfleet chaplain seemed to take his cue from that and kept his own words brief. After the grave was filled, the many flower arrangements from the hall were piled over it by the cemetery's attendants, creating a giant, garish heap that struck Trip as ridiculously out of scale to the tiny child lying under it. He would have cleared them all off and let the barren ground speak for itself, if it were up to him. But of course, the flowers would be gone soon enough.

T'Pol had been provided with a mat and sat down in meditation in front of the grave. Soval joined her. Everyone else backed away respectfully.

"What are you going to do now?" Archer asked Trip softly.

"I'm going to go stay with my folks for a few days. When are we due to ship out?"

"Not until the conference is over. So you've got at least a week to do whatever you want, I hope. In the meantime, I'm rotating leaves for most of the crew while we check out the systems Jupiter Station updated. We're also doing a full security sweep. I told T'Pol that Gardner said once we head out again we could stop over at Vulcan for a time if that was what she wanted. She didn't really say whether she wanted to, though."

They smiled in an old and practiced commiseration.

Trip bade farewell to Archer and his other crewmates and returned to his parents and his sister. "You must be getting cold," he said. "Why don't you head back home? I'll catch up with you."

"We thought perhaps you would join us for lunch first," his father said. "Both of you, if you'd like."

Soval had departed; Trip could see him striding to catch up with the captain. Trip looked back at T'Pol, a small mound of robes huddled in front of the giant mountain of flowers, framed by Starfleet security officers standing at attention on either side of the grave. "Thanks, but I think we need a little more time here," he said.

"Bring her to the house later, if she'll come," his mother said.

"I'll invite her," Trip said. "But I wouldn't count on her showing up." He turned and hugged his sister. "Thanks for coming all this way, Hannah." Then he hugged his parents. "I'll call if I think I'm going to run late."

He watched them walk down the hill toward the shuttle and turned back to T'Pol. He sat down next to her, on the mat Soval had vacated, trying to arrange himself comfortably and utterly failing. It was too damned cold and he was beginning to shiver. The wind blew and the gulls screamed and he thought about all the ways in which Elizabeth had never had a chance. "It's not fair," he finally said. "What kind of life did she have, with those bastards?"

"Susan Khouri cared deeply for her," T'Pol said. "She died for her."

Trip sighed. That was another death to lay at Paxton's door. T'Pol watched him, her face impassive.

"What do you want to do, T'Pol? Would you like me to leave you alone here?"

"No," she said, and stood up.

"Then let's go get something hot to drink," he said. "I'm freezing."

They stood together for a moment, staring at the grave. Trip sighed. Once again, T'Pol took his hand. "Goodbye, little one," he said, and they turned and left.

* * *

They went to one of the coffee shops on the grounds and sat at a table close to its fireplace, which featured an ersatz but nonetheless warming "fire." T'Pol stared at it for awhile, possibly perplexed by the fake wood and the manufactured crackling sounds, but she didn't say anything. Perhaps she was getting used to human sentimentality.

"My parents invited you to the house later, if you'd like to join me," Trip said. "I told them you probably wouldn't, though, so don't feel obligated."

"I will go with you."

He looked up from his coffee in surprise. "You will?"

"I have no other family with whom to observe this event here," T'Pol said. "I do have relatives on Vulcan, but they have not been in contact with me since my mother died. If I do not hear from them after this, I believe I must assume that they do not wish to continue the relationship."

"I'm sure there's a significant delay to Vulcan," Trip said. "That's probably all it is."

"Perhaps," T'Pol said. She sounded doubtful.

Trip was suspicious now. Was T'Pol being shunned? He hadn't gotten that impression from the priest, or from the other Vulcans present, especially Soval, but maybe he just hadn't picked up on it. "What did that priest this morning say to you today, before that prayer?"

T'Pol looked uncomfortable. "He said I mustn't make a beggar of my bond mate."

Trip blinked. "Meaning?"

"That I should consider your needs as well as my own."

The old Vulcan guy was actually in his corner? That was interesting. "How'd he know we were bond mates?"

"Sevek was the priest I consulted at the Vulcan Compound."

"Oh. But, then, wouldn't he have an idea about our…" Trip grimaced. "Recent decision?"

"On Vulcan, divorce is unheard of once a marriage has produced children."

Trip stared at her. "What does that mean?"

She got that cornered look. "This may not be the best place to discuss this."

Some instinct told him not to press her, today of all days. He sighed. "Well, if you're really going to go to my folks, I guess we might as well get going."

* * *

Starfleet had offered them a personal shuttle and Trip was happy to take them up on the offer. He collected a bag he had stowed and they went to the shuttle hub. "Why do you have luggage?" T'Pol asked.

"Because I'm staying there a few days," Trip said.

She was silent for a moment. "I don't have a bag."

"Do you need one? I figured you could just take a shuttle back up to the ship tonight."

More silence.

Trip squinted at her, confused. "Are you suggesting that you'd actually be willing to stay at my parents' house for _a few days?" _

"Yes."

Trip felt he was having trouble keeping up. "Well," he said slowly. "I guess we could go back up to the ship and get you a bag, if you want."

"That would be acceptable."

"Different shuttle port," he said, and steered in another direction. "I can't help thinking the transporter would make this a lot easier."

"Agreed," T'Pol said, and took out her communicator. "T'Pol to _Enterprise."_

Trip just watched her, flummoxed.

* * *

Archer met them at the transporter pad. "Did Starfleet get in touch with you yet?"

Trip exchanged a glance with T'Pol. "No," he said. "Why?"

"There have been some developments." Archer smiled grimly. "Let's go sit down and I'll catch you up."

In his ready room, Archer brought up one of Earth's news feeds on his monitor. "That's my parents' place!" Trip said, his heart sinking.

A reporter was standing in front of the Tucker home, talking. Archer hadn't bothered turning the volume up. "The media is camping out in your parents' front yard," he said. "It's not just Paxton and Terra Prime that's a big story, it's Elizabeth and it's you and T'Pol. It wasn't too hard to contain as long as you stayed within the grounds, but at your parents'…."

Trip stared at the screen. He could see that his parents had drawn their curtains, something they never did during the day. "This is ridiculous!"

Archer said, "I've been talking with Starfleet. We've got security concerns here, and publicity concerns, and of course you and your parents' privacy to worry about. But the public is also naturally curious to learn more, especially given recent events."

Trip was afraid he knew where this was going. "You're _not _going to put us in a press conference."

"No," Archer said. "But Starfleet would like you to make a statement. Both of you. You wouldn't need to accept questions at this point. In fact, Starfleet specifically doesn't _want _you to answer any questions. They prefer to handle that themselves. And they'd also like to help you craft your statements."

"I don't _want _to make any damned statement! I just want to be able to go spend some time with my family in peace! Is that too much to ask at a time like this?"

Archer looked at T'Pol.

She said, "Starfleet understands Earth media relations better than I do. If a statement is required, I am of course willing to make one. However, I don't understand what such a statement would need to contain beyond facts already disclosed to the public."

"This has nothing to do with the facts," Trip said. "They just want the pictures! They're hoping they'll get to see the human guy lose it and the Vulcan be Vulcan, for the cameras."

Archer frowned. "It's not just about Elizabeth. There's a great deal of curiosity about the relationship between the two of you. There are plenty of rumors out there. It has already been noted that you visited Vulcan with T'Pol..."

"Where she married someone else!"

"…and that she is already divorced, which is quite rare among Vulcans. And by the way, it's not just the media asking. Admiral Gardner wants to know, too."

Trip exchanged a concerned look with T'Pol. "What did you tell him?"

"That you were fellow officers who often need to work closely together, that you had become good friends, and that as far as I knew, that was all there was to it. He wanted to know why, if that was true, you were holding hands during the service."

"God damn it," Trip said. He stopped pacing and threw himself down into the seat.

T'Pol said, "I believe I can explain that, Captain. As a Vulcan, I am under specific obligations to the father of my child, no matter how that child came to be. It appeared to me that Commander Tucker required emotional support, which I provided."

Archer eyed her skeptically. "Vulcans don't even hold hands in public with their own spouses, T'Pol."

"Vulcan spouses are generally _Vulcan, _Captain. Commander Tucker is not. As a Vulcan who has served among humans for four years, it is merely logical that I sometimes make small accommodations to human custom."

"Okay. But unless I am much mistaken, Commander Tucker is also _not your spouse."_

And there was the heart of the matter, Trip thought.

"Actually, by Vulcan custom I believe he now _is."_

They both stared at her. Then Trip said, "Excuse me?"

"As I said earlier, I was hoping to explain this to you in a more appropriate setting," T'Pol said.

"When the hell did this happen?" Trip demanded.

Archer's slack jaw finally shut. "Maybe I should leave you two alone for a moment?" He all but ran for the door

"T'Pol?" Trip said dangerously.

She folded her arms, clearly uncomfortable. "Technically, it began the moment Elizabeth was conceived, although I believe we could have argued that in a case like this an exception could be made. However, when you add the fact that we are already bonded…"

"Wait a minute! You're telling me we've been married for six months?"

"Only technically. But when the priest laid hands on us this morning…"

"He laid hands on _you, _not me."

"He laid hands on me, and through me, on you. It is the tradition with parents who have lost a child. So he would clearly now consider us to be married. And he is a Vulcan priest. I imagine he will have already begun to create the official record, though we will need to follow up with him."

Trip just stared at her.

"You have said or implied that you wish to marry me on several occasions," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but I would have liked to have _known _when it happened!"

"I'm sorry." She took a deep breath. "I was … I am… still adjusting to it myself."

"And what if I _didn't_ want to marry you?"

She tensed. "Have you changed your mind?"

"No. It's just … it's a bit presumptuous, don't you think? _Bam, _you're married? "

"Since Elizabeth has died, a petition for divorce might be entertained. If you wish it."

He scowled. "You know I don't."

She just watched him. Trip could feel her anxiety mounting.

"Do you want this?" he asked. "Or are you just stuck with it?"

Her eyes filled. "I want it. After what happened with Koss, I told myself that I would never let anyone push me into something this important against my better judgment ever again. Even you, Trip. But I do want it. I just…" She swallowed. "I fear that you will find marriage to me quite disappointing … and restrictive. I also seem to cause you a great deal of pain, without ever intending it."

"Look," he said softly. "I know it's not going to be a walk in the park. But I still want it. I love you."

She all but shuddered at the effort of containing a wave of strong emotion. He stepped forward and wrapped her in her arms, and she held on tight in return.

"So we're married," Trip said into her hair, still trying to take it in. "It's official."

"Yes. On Vulcan."

He sighed. "That's the good news. That's what I wanted all along. The bad news is that I think we might have just lost our jobs."

* * *

They ended up spending most of the rest of the day holed up in a conference room with Captain Archer and Admiral Gardner's chief aide, as well as the heads of Starfleet's communications office and personnel office, and Ambassador Soval. At Soval's request, Sevek was also contacted, and corroborated what T'Pol had already explained to them. "These two are married," he said. "There is no question. They had a child. They share a bond. This is the Vulcan way."

"They share a _bond?" _Soval said.

"There is no question," the priest said.

Soval looked disgruntled.

"Is that a problem?" Gardner's aide asked.

"It somewhat complicates matters," Soval said. He frowned at T'Pol. "What could you have been thinking?"

T'Pol flushed. "This occurred in the aftermath of my exposure to Trellium-D on the Seleya."

Trip looked carefully at her, thinking: _You'd better stop right there. _"I guess I should have realized she wasn't herself," he said apologetically.

"Then this relationship is solely due to your exposure to Trellium-D and Paxton's creation of your child?" Soval said to T'Pol, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes," she said.

Archer and the other human males in the room turned their eyes to Trip, who scowled a bit. "Well, I _always _liked her," he said, he said defensively. "What was I supposed to do?"

"You didn't see anything inappropriate in getting involved with a senior officer?" Gardner's aide growled.

"Oh, come on." He resisted the urge to say _just look at her! _"Technically, she wasn't even a member of Starfleet. And we were in the Expanse. We were all under tremendous stress. Not to mention…" He stuck his tongue in the side of his mouth. "How was I supposed to say _no _to a superior officer?"

"In my view, Commander Tucker was not at fault in any way for this," T'Pol said. "And while my own behavior was poor, I believe one could argue extenuating circumstances. It took us some time to realize that a bond had been established. Upon doing so we reached a decision that we should attempt to let it dissolve. However, having had a child together, however involuntarily, removes that possibility under Vulcan tradition. Therefore, Commander Tucker and I must make the best of it. Since we share significant mutual respect and friendship, I do not find the prospect disagreeable."

Trip smirked. _I love you too, baby. _

Most of the men in the room looked either confused or slightly repelled, though Archer mostly looked a bit skeptical. He had a better ear for their bullshit.

Technically, of course, it was all true.

"So here we are," Trip said. "If you want us to resign, that's what we'll do. I'm sure we can both find other employment somewhere."

"I think that would be unfortunate," Archer said quickly.

"Yes, let's not go there yet," Gardner's aide said, with a sour look at his colleagues. "There's got to be some way we can work this."

* * *

After another half hour of deliberations hadn't resolved anything, Trip called his parents and told them they weren't going to make it that day. Starfleet was willing to relocate the whole Tucker clan away from the madness for awhile, but his mother said Grandma didn't travel well and they'd just hunker down. Hannah took the offer to transport out, though. Trip beamed her up himself.

"You're braver than I thought," he said, when she materialized. "Do you know how few people are willing to use this thing?"

"It seemed easier than having to walk out through that pack of hyenas," she said. "Plus I hate flying. What the hell have you gotten us into, Trip?"

"I'm still trying to figure that one out myself," he said. "Is the back garden okay? It's a little less likely to freak out your neighbors."

"Don't I get to see your precious ship?"

"Hannah, we're in the middle of a real mess here. I'm sorry, but I don't have time to give you a tour."

"Fine," she said, with a pout. "Just don't put me down in the compost pile."

"I'm putting you two meters behind the back door," he said. "Say hi to Patrick and Liam for me." He beamed her down and headed back into the fray.

* * *

After awhile, as Archer and the senior brass argued options, Trip sat in his chair, next to T'Pol, and just let it all flow over his head.

He was married. She was his wife.

He reached out his hand and she took it.

The rest of the room fell away. They were the family they were always meant to be. Somewhere out there they'd already had a son and a life together, in another timeline. And for a scant few days in this one, they'd had a daughter. Maybe someday there would be other children. Phlox had said it was possible. But even if that never happened, they had each other.

Starfleet and the High Council could weigh in as much as they wanted, but there would be no going back on that one fundamental fact: They were married. _She was his wife!_

He grinned at her.

She looked serenely back at him.

The sudden silence in the room finally intruded on their mutual regard. He looked up. The others were staring at them. "What?" he said.

Soval said drily, "It would be helpful, Commanders, if we could have your _attention _as we address these important issues."

Trip scowled. "You know what? I just found out I'm married. Now, it's been real nice working with ya and all, and I'm sure we'd both hate to leave Starfleet, but the bottom line is that we're married and you're just going to have to deal with it. Just like us." He stood up. "I'd like to spend a little private time with my wife now. You let us know when you have something useful to tell us. We'll be in…" He hesitated and looked at T'Pol, who had raised an eyebrow. "Her quarters." T'Pol stood up, apparently agreeing, and gestured for him to go ahead of her.

The Vulcan husband's prerogative. Trip grinned again.

Archer, Trip noticed, was attempting to hide a small smile himself.

At the door Trip stopped and added, "And by the way, if you decide you need to talk to us? I strongly suggest you knock first."

* * *

No sooner were they in her quarters than Trip turned and kissed his wife hard, pushing her back up against the door she'd just closed. She kissed him back with equal ardor.

For which he was extremely relieved.

He backed away finally and looked down at her as she panted. "So this is really it, huh?"

"Indeed." She swallowed. "I thought you would be angrier."

"Well, I was. Until I realized that for once in my life weird Vulcan crap was actually working in my favor."

Her eyebrow went up. "Weird Vulcan crap?"

"You know, I just love it when you talk dirty."

She licked her lips. The invitation was clear.

He bit his own lip. "This has been one hell of a day, hasn't it? We don't really have to do anything. I just wanted to have some time alone with you."

"After what you said in there, I can think of no other time when we are less likely to be disturbed."

Trip smiled. "True." He bent his head and kissed her again, thoroughly, then picked her up and carried her over to the bunk. "You know, I can't tell you how happy I am to be stuck with you for the rest of my life."

"It is agreeable to me as well, husband," T'Pol said. "But at this point I would suggest less talking and more disrobing."

_

* * *

_

From the archives of Starfleet:

Statement read to the press by Commander T'Pol of _Enterprise NX-01_, January 25, 2155:

Commander Tucker and I would like to thank all those who have expressed their condolences to us on the death of our daughter, Elizabeth. Although we only knew her a short time, she mattered a great deal to both of us. We share Captain Archer's hope that, even though she was created by John Paxton and Terra Prime in the hope of inciting intolerance and isolationism, her short life might instead stand as a testament to the potential for cooperation between our species.

Commander Tucker has authorized me to speak on his behalf today. He is still coping with strong emotions over recent events and wished to spend this time with his family. I know that this period of mourning is customary on Earth, as indeed it is on Vulcan as well, and I trust that you will show the Commander's family the respect they deserve by allowing them to experience this private family time undisturbed.

Starfleet has asked me to address certain questions and concerns that have arisen as to the nature of the relationship between me and Commander Tucker. Therefore, I will outline the pertinent facts for you. Hopefully this will resolve the matter fully. If you have further questions, I would ask you to direct them to Captain Sanchez of Starfleet's Communications Office.

***** Commander Tucker and I have served on _Enterprise _since its launch in April of 2151.

***** While we were in the Expanse hunting for the Xindi last year, Commander Tucker and I had a short-lived romantic relationship. This was under the influence of external factors that remain classified. Starfleet has, however, fully investigated the matter and has determined that it did not merit disciplinary action.

*** **When a child was created by Terra Prime using genetic material stolen from Enterprise's sickbay, we became parents. Under Vulcan tradition, and in the absence of any conflicting commitments, this automatically created a formal legal relationship between us that roughly translates as marriage.

*** **Neither Commander Tucker nor myself, nor Starfleet, wishes to disrespect Vulcan tradition by attempting to evade this legal relationship.

*** **However, Commander Tucker and I are not married by law in any human jurisdiction, and do not plan to marry. Rather, we seek to continue our service aboard Enterprise as professional colleagues who continue to observe Starfleet's rules and regulations. After some consideration, Starfleet has agreed to overlook the technical legal relationship imposed on us by Vulcan tradition, so long as we do not allow it to interfere in the performance of our duties.

*** **Both Commander Tucker and I hope you will respect our desire to focus on our service to Starfleet and _Enterprise, _and, as I mentioned earlier, direct any additional questions or concerns you have to Captain Sanchez.

Thank you.

* * *

Trip watched his wife on the video monitor in his parents' living room. She had managed to maintain a dry-as-dust tone of Vulcan disgust throughout – interrupted only by a particularly forceful glare as she demanded privacy for the Tucker family – and he just couldn't stop grinning.

The room on the monitor erupted in questions that T'Pol ignored as she glided away from the podium. Trip could see Jon and Malcolm against the far wall, smiling their approval as she joined them.

Grandma stared at the screen in perplexity. "So are you married or not?"

"Only on Vulcan," Trip said. "Only technically."

His mother snorted. "That must be why you look so miserable."

Trip's grin widened. "That's why they wouldn't let me go to the press conference. Jon said I was sure to give it away by smiling too much."

"Everyone's going to figure out that this is just a big crock," his dad said. "Especially if you keep grinning like that once you're back on board. So what'd they do, set you up in special 'technically married' quarters so as not to offend Vulcan tradition?"

Trip shook his head. "I wish. No, we're really going to have to be careful. Officially, there's not going to be anything going on at all."

"And unofficially?" his mom asked.

"We can't be letting Vulcan tradition down now, can we?" Trip said, with a happy sigh. "Though I'm glad to say T'Pol also makes accommodations for her very human husband now and again."

His mother and father exchanged raised eyebrows. "I think we don't want to know," his mother said.

"As long as you're happy," his dad said, sounding a little doubtful.

Trip smiled. He could feel a warm connection to T'Pol even as he sat here hundreds of kilometers away. They had already cleared a four square meter area in the living room for her to beam into later. "Yeah, Dad. I think, finally, I'm all set."

**THE END **


	7. Epilogue

Thank you, reviewers! You make it all worthwhile. Technically, this should be a separate story, since I depart from Trip's point of view, but I'm tacking it onto the end of this one because it really doesn't stand on its own.

A longer, NC-17 version of this story can be found in the Decon Chamber at Triaxian Silk under the title, "Commander Tucker Takes a Honeymoon."

Disclaimers, etc. in Chapter One

* * *

"So when do I get to meet this so-called wife of yours?" Grandma asked, frowning.

"Soon. She's going to transport right into that spot there," Trip said, and pointed.

Grandma looked at him. "Transport?"

"Her atoms are going to be scrambled, then beamed here and rematerialized in that exact spot."

"Rematerialized?" Grandma said skeptically. "Like a hologram?"

"No, like a real person. Didn't you see Hannah go?"

"No," Trip's mother said. "She was asleep."

"I was not!"

"Yes, you were. Right there in your chair. You were snoring."

"I never snore. And I only sleep in my own bed, thank you very much. It was your father who always fell asleep in his chair. I don't think the man ever saw more than fifteen minutes of any TV show."

"Right," Trip's mother muttered. "You never snore. You never drool either."

"Eh?" Grandma said, but Trip's mother just shook her head and walked off to the kitchen.

"Where is she going to sleep?" Grandma demanded. "We only have one guest room."

"With me," Trip said. "We're married, remember?"

"I thought that was only technically."

"Only technically will do just fine," Trip said, with a grin.

"So you _are_ married."

"Yeah, Grandma. But you need to keep this to yourself, okay? No gossiping about it to your hairdresser or the old ladies at the senior center. We can't afford to have it get out."

"God damn it, Trip," Grandma said. "Why'd you have to go and marry a Vulcan if I can't say anything about it? A lady needs a supply of interesting tidbits for her friends."

Trip grimaced. "Maybe you could just tell them about the Vulcan visitor you had. How she's my _colleague_."

Grandma snorted. "Right. Your colleague. Got it."

Trip checked the clock. "She'll be here any minute now." He bounced on his toes. He was getting a little nervous.

"Colleague with benefits," Grandma said.

"Grandma!" Trip said. "No blabbing. I mean it! And be nice."

"I'm always nice."

Trip's communicator beeped. "Tucker here."

"Reed here. Are you ready over there?"

"Ready as we'll ever be."

T'Pol materialized. She looked at Trip, then at the old lady who was staring open-mouthed at her.

"T'Pol," Trip said, reaching out a hand, which she took. "I'd like to introduce you to my grandmother, Theodora Ledbetter. Grandma, T'Pol is our first officer and our science officer … and my wife."

"Mrs. Ledbetter," T'Pol said, inclining her head in greeting.

Grandma finally shut her mouth. "Oh, call me Tizzy, child," she said. "Or Grandma. That's what Trip calls me."

"It is agreeable to meet you…Tizzy," T'Pol said, with an uncomfortable glance at Trip.

"That's right," Trip said reassuringly, and turned his attention to his parents, who had walked in from the kitchen. "You've already met Mom and Dad."

"Mr. and Mrs. Tucker," T'Pol said. "Thank you for having me as your guest."

"Oh no, honey, you're not a guest," Trip's mother said. "You're family now. I hope you're hungry!"

* * *

Elaine had decided that the safest way to cope with the mysterious Vulcan diet was a Greek salad. So she put platters of romaine at each place and let people help themselves from bowls of dolmades, onions, olives, feta cheese, potato salad, boiled shrimp, sliced eggs, anchovies, and tomatoes.

T'Pol avoided the shrimp and anchovies and eggs but tried the rest, though it was clear she was put off by the feta cheese and she also stared down at the stuffed grape leaf in surprise after trying it. Trip watched her try each item, and smiled happily at his mom each time his wife seemed to find an ingredient pleasing.

Actually, he smiled even when she seemed to dislike something. Trip could hardly _stop _smiling.

Elaine wasn't sure what to make of T'Pol. At the memorial service she'd mostly just seen the back of her head. Here, she didn't appear nervous. She didn't appear to be anything in particular. She held herself a bit stiffly, but that was what Vulcans did. She was a very attractive woman, of course, if in a green-tinged kind of way that took a little getting used to. But Elaine didn't think looks alone could have been enough to make her son fall so hard. Perhaps it was the lure of the exotic?

"So how did you two get together?" Grandma asked.

Elaine grimaced. She should have known her mother would ask out loud what she was only wondering about.

T'Pol and Trip exchanged glances. "We served pretty closely together for a long time," Trip said. "I guess it just kind of happened."

"Well, there had to be something that got you started," Grandma said. She jutted her chin at T'Pol. "What did you like about him?"

T'Pol regarded the old woman calmly for a few moments. "I eventually came to regard him as a very intelligent man and a very capable engineer."

"_Very_ intelligent?" he said, sounding surprised.

"Yes." She turned back to Grandma. "I also saw that he had a generous nature. As well as an attractive musculature."

Trip started coughing.

"You all right, Trip?" his dad asked, with a little smile. "I told you those weights would pay off someday."

"What about you?" Grandma demanded of Trip. "What got you started?"

"I just loved arguing with her," Trip said.

T'Pol's eyebrow went up.

"Probably didn't hurt that she was drop-dead gorgeous." He exchanged smirks with his father. "I like your musculature too," he added in an aside to T'Pol.

She stared at him for a long moment and Elaine could swear she saw them both flush: one pink, one bronze. Then both of them dropped their heads and focused on their food, cutting it efficiently and chewing it with determination.

Elaine coughed gently. "Your dad and I are going to be going out tonight," she said. "So once I get Grandma settled into her room for the night you'll have the place to yourself."

Trip's blush intensified. "You don't have to do that."

"We've been trapped in this house for a couple of days thanks to that mob of reporters you brought down on our heads. We _need_ to get out."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Sorry about that."

"Well, it was hardly your fault," Elaine said, and smiled at her husband, who gave her a bland look back.

Maybe it wasn't much of a honeymoon as honeymoons went, but Elaine was determined to give them at least a shot at it.

* * *

T'Pol dried the last pot and gave it to Trip, who put it away.

"That's everything," he said. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'll show you my musculature if you'll show me yours."

T'Pol nearly shivered at the spark of desire his warm breath on her ear produced in her. "Your grandmother will not require us?"

"No," he said. "And her room is on the other side of the house. Come on, let me show you the guest room."

She followed him down the hall. The Tuckers' home was not large and had an efficient layout, all on one floor. The décor was spare by the standards of what she had seen of human design and had a distinctly nautical theme: navigational charts decorated the walls and large shells or sponges and bowls of smaller shells sat on various tables. There were a great many photographs scattered about, just as in Trip's quarters.

"Here we are," he said, walking into a cramped room that was dominated by a large bed. On a dresser squeezed in against the only free wall, a vase of Earth flowers perfumed the air.

"I believe your mother has taken some pains to make this stay comfortable," T'Pol observed.

"She said she was sorry we didn't get to have a proper honeymoon."

T'Pol cocked her head. "Vulcans don't have honeymoons."

"Humans do." His voice had turned husky.

"For what purpose?" T'Pol asked.

"This," Trip said, and kissed her until her knees felt weak.

* * *

"What are you thinking?" he said awhile later, as they lay side by side on their backs, perspiration cooling on their skin.

"I am wondering if other Vulcan women ever experience anything like that," she said.

He got up on one elbow and looked down at her, amused. "Of course they do."

"You have personal experience of this?" she said tartly.

"No. But come on. Vulcan men can't be _that_ clueless. Especially with the old mating bond to help them out. It's kinda handy, I have to say."

"I doubt the madness of the _pon farr_ would allow for the_… strategic_ approach you just demonstrated."

He lay back down. "You still think other Vulcans only have sex every seven years."

She was silent.

"You know," he said, "I have a hard time believing you're the _only _Vulcan in the universe with a healthy sexual appetite. It's just not _scientific. _"

"My mother did say it could be pleasant to share intimacy with one's husband outside of _pon farr_." Her brow furrowed.

He grinned. T'Pol's lack of sexual knowledge always charmed him, perhaps because she usually knew so much more about everything else than he did. "It's weird to think about your parents doing it, isn't it?"

"Actually, it's more disquieting to think that she could have had that connection with my father and then lost it. I believe I may have failed to fully comprehend the impact his loss must have had on her."

"I know she missed him," Trip said.

T'Pol turned her head and stared at him.

"Before your wedding, we talked. I was wearing your father's robes. She patted the shoulders down so wistfully – I could tell she was thinking about him." He licked his lips. "She told me I should tell you how I felt."

"She did?" T'Pol looked stunned.

"I told her I didn't want to put you under any more pressure," he said. He rolled toward her and laid his hand on her bare hip. "Was I wrong? Should I have told you?"

"No. It wouldn't have made any difference. I knew how you felt. I was doing what was expected of me. I would have seen no logical alternative."

"Just like now," Trip said, with a sigh. "Lucky that logic finally worked in my favor, huh?" He rolled back and looked up at the ceiling. As happy as he was, it still rankled a bit, knowing that if it hadn't been for Vulcan tradition, T'Pol wouldn't be here with him now.

As if she sensed his darkening mood – which she probably did – she crawled into his arms and laid her head on his chest. "I can't imagine what my life would be like without you," she said softly.

He caressed her back, touched by her words but a little disbelieving. Of course she could imagine it. She had been doggedly imagining it off and on for the last two years.

She raised herself up and stared fiercely down at him. "I love you just as intensely as you love me, Trip, even if I can't express it as easily. There is nothing more terrible to me than the thought of losing you."

Trip blinked, taken aback. T'Pol's emotional outbursts were rare but they could be overwhelming in their intensity. Her anguish now felt just as strong as the grief they'd shared for Elizabeth and it struck him as a little strange that she was actually thinking about losing him while they were both lying safely in a bed in his parents' house in Mississippi. "Well, hopefully it will be quite awhile before we have to worry about _that,_" he said.

"You've come close to dying many times already." She took a deep breath and held on to him tighter.

Well, yeah, there was that. He sighed and ran his hand down her bare back. "You've come pretty damned close to it yourself. That just makes moments like this more precious."

"Shorter-lived species are prone to such rationalizations."

Rationalizations? Did Vulcans ever allow themselves to take comfort in anything? "I tried to talk to you once – about what I was thinking when I thought I was about to die. Do you remember?"

"Yes," she said softly.

"I just kept thinking about you. Even as bad as things were between us then. Wondering if you'd miss me. Wishing I could tell you I still loved you."

She propped herself up again and looked down at him. "I would have missed you for the rest of my life." She lowered her head to his and then they were kissing, first gently, then hungrily.

* * *

"Damn. This just keeps getting better and better," Trip said, afterwards, as they lay spooned together under the covers.

"Indeed," T'Pol said.

"Tell ya what. I'll try to live forever. You do the same. How's that sound?"

"An appealing strategy, though I fear it may not prove effective," T'Pol said. She turned around to face him. "How would you feel about attempting to have a child?"

He stared back at her, surprised. "I would feel very good about it. You really want to do that?"

He could feel the excitement of the idea begin to bounce back and forth between them. "It won't be easy," she warned him, and perhaps herself.

"I think I've proven I can hang in there."

She nodded. "I will talk to Phlox when we return to _Enterprise_."

He smiled crookedly. "We haven't talked about what we'd do, where we'd live."

"I believe the phrase you use is: _let's cross that bridge when we get to it?"_

He laughed. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my wife?"

"I'm still here," T'Pol said. "I am feeling odd. Rather…" Her nose wrinkled up. "Giddy."

"You're feeling giddy."

"Yes."

He grinned. "You know, so am I. Maybe we're overdosing on sex hormones or something."

"Should I be concerned?"

He kissed her forehead. "No, darlin'. I'd say it's long overdue. Let's just enjoy it while it lasts."

She snuggled into him. "Agreed."

**THE END (for real, this time)**... **Be nice to your authors, leave a review. **


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